


Regency Gothic

by Weirwoo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Angst with a Happy Ending, Byronic Heroes & Heroines, F/M, Gothic, Implied/Referenced Incest, Marriage of Convenience, Not Canon Compliant, References to Frankenstein, inspired by mary shelley, not cersei friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:42:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 37,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22285810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weirwoo/pseuds/Weirwoo
Summary: Brienne Tarth, a theatre critic of the Regency era, is unimpressed by the infamous Romantic poet Jaime Lannister.
Relationships: Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Jon Snow & Brienne of Tarth, Robb Stark & Brienne of Tarth, Sansa Stark & Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 225
Kudos: 335





	1. PART ONE: The Theatre Critic

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in the Regency era, specifically in the time of the Romantic Poets. Brienne's character is (very loosely) inspired by Mary Shelley, the author of Frankenstein, while Jaime Lannister is (again, even more loosely) inspired by Lord Byron.
> 
> The story is mostly non-canon, and its focus is mainly on Jaime and Brienne and their evolving relationship. However, I have kept the relationship between Cersei and Jaime as a source of conflict, though the incest here is implied and NOT at all graphic. 
> 
> Elements of Frankenstein and the story behind its writing were borrowed for this fic, alongside a few stanzas from the works of Byron (which will be discussed in the specific chapter).
> 
> The story is completely finished, and will be released in four (very long) parts over the next week.
> 
> -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Ro_Nordmann for the amazing and stunning cover image!!!

_(Cover Art by Ro_Nordmann)_

_=====_

She had first glimpsed him during one of the early performances of his latest play, _The Fall of August_ , sitting in the wings of the gas-lit stage, his body relaxed, long legs spread, leaning back in his chair. From the motions of his head, she noticed that he was following the actors' movements intently and appeared to be listening carefully to the delivery of the lines that he had written. His long, white cravat was loose, tied in a relaxed and imprecise way, giving the impression of a careless, artistic sensibility. His face she could not clearly see, obscured by the shadows of the curtain and stage.

The play itself was an entertaining one, full of action, men killing each other, and a tragic romance. She had seen this same story many times before, under different titles. Yet the audience was hungry for it; they roared at the action scenes, sighed at the declarations of love, and cried at the hero’s death in the end, for there always _had_ to be a death at the end. She sighed, listening to the audience around her clap as the final scenes concluded on the stage; she stopped her writing for a moment. She half-heartedly joined the clapping, aiming for the bare minimum of politeness. Was this where her father had wanted her to end up, in the theatre writing reviews of utterly terrible plays? She thought of her unusually rigorous education, which her father described as a ‘more masculine’ education, and the way in which he tried to instil in her the desire for social and political reform. She sighed again and continued writing, mindless of the commotion of bodies around her.

Lost in thought, she started when she heard a voice address her in the suddenly empty theatre.

“I have observed you furiously writing, sir, throughout the play. Was it not to your liking that you brought your correspondence to the theatre?” the drawling voice with a flinty sharpness called out to her.

She looked up, and saw the infamous Jaime Lannister standing in front of her, his eyes glinting. At the sight of her face, he audibly drew in a breath, his face temporarily struck by surprise. His expression, however, soon smoothed into a mildly amused stare. She could not help but stare back as he was unbelievably golden and easily the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, with his angular jaw, noble nose and a most alive pair of emerald green eyes – eyes that were currently widened in surprise.

“By gods, you’re a woman!” He breathed, his eyes raking her seated form up and down.

She felt a flash of annoyance, but calmed herself as she remembered, in all fairness to him, that she was wearing male attire for the evening: an evening suit, tie and a dark hat. Instead, she ignored him and stood up to leave, giving him an even stare. Randomly, she noticed that they were nearly of the same height, with Brienne being perhaps two inches taller. That certainly was unusual.

The left corner of his lips quirked up. “Forgive me, my lady. I was misled by your…unusual attire.” He narrowed his eyes, closely examining her face and figure.

Brienne felt a blush slowly suffuse her neck and head under the heat of his stare. His mouth widened into a delighted grin as he observed his effect on her.

“Are you in disguise, Miss…?”

She forced herself to look him in the eye. “Brienne Tarth.”

A slight cloud passed over his face, but he resumed a rather false, lackadaisical air. He looked pointedly at the pen and notebook she was holding. “Brienne Tarth…B. Tarth? Of _The Examiner_?”

“The very same, Mr. Lannister.”

His eyes narrowed. “Ah, so you know me.”

She nodded.

“And so you should. You eviscerated my last two plays, _B. Tarth_. Didn’t you say of my last play ‘ _the lack of subtlety in this work means you will acutely feel the sensation of being hit in the head with a heavy hammer’_?”

Brienne suppressed a laugh and felt the strange thrill of being quoted. She could not manage the requisite shame that perhaps she should have felt at being in the presence of the playwright responsible for said play. Instead, she looked at him with a frankness.

“I was being honest.”

“Surely you jest!” He frowned at her.

“I liked your early plays, and your poetry books,” Brienne said defensively.

The tightness in his mouth softened. “Ah, I see you are familiar with my works. Perhaps you are a fan?” He started to walk around the stage idly, looking at her appreciatively.

“I admit, my last few works have not been…say, filled with artistic virtue. I admit that.” He grinned, and walked toward her. “But people can’t resist my latest plays. Every night, the theatre is filled to capacity.”

“You are compromising your talent for fame, then?” Brienne said curiously.

Jaime Lannister’s face darkened. Then he smiled. “Ah but Miss Tarth, I’m bringing joy to the masses! Surely there is intrinsic merit in that? Isn’t your own father a proponent of the merits of the populace?”

She felt her cheeks grow pink. He continued. “Yes, I am familiar with your father’s writings. Tarth is not a very common name around these parts. In fact, I’m a great admirer of his philosophy. It’s a shame that his own…daughter is stuck writing reviews of dreadful, populist plays, instead of writing anything of _serious_ value, is it not?” He grinned, showing his shiny white teeth.

It was as if he cut her. She flinched. His grin grew even wider.

Suddenly she saw the lovely figure of a woman slink on to the stage. Brienne recognized her as the lead actress in Lannister’s productions, Cersei Lannister, his twin sister. She was a smaller, sharply beautiful version of her brother: her hair was long, hanging in honey blond waves down her back, her face was delicate and her mouth red, and her eyes a hard, everlasting green. She was barely clothed, wearing a flimsy silk robe that barely hid her generous curves and slim figure.

“Jaime, why are you still here?” she called, stopping short when she spotted Brienne. She slowly sneered when she realized that Brienne was a woman. An _ugly_ woman. Jaime turned to the voice and quickly walked toward his sister, his face eager.

“Cersei,” he said, stooping to give her a lingering kiss on the cheek. “I’ve just been talking to the theatre critic, Miss Brienne Tarth.”

Cersei Lannister’s eyes scoured over her face and form. Brienne was more conscious than ever of her immense height, her muscular frame, her crooked nose, her large, wide lips, and the millions of freckles all over her body.

“I’m surprised you can even tell that’s a woman, brother,” Cersei said a barbed tone. Jaime made a noise of disapproval at his sister. She turned to Brienne and gave her a very faint smile, nodding slightly.

Jaime sent Brienne an apologetic grin and bowed a goodbye. He placed his arm around his sister’s waist and started to guide her off the stage. Just as they were walking away, he turned back and called, “I look forward to seeing your review, Miss Tarth!”

=====

She was surprised to find an invitation from Jaime Lannister for them to join him for dinner at his home a fortnight later. It was a rare invitation for them, as Brienne was not socially active, and Robb and Sansa had only been in King’s Landing for only two moons.

“Jaime Lannister?” Robb said, smiling as he touched the thick paper of the letter. “He is quite infamous in King’s Landing. Didn’t he kill some nobleman in a duel?”

“I’ve seen all of his plays since I’ve been here,” sighed Sansa. “They’re so entertaining and exciting. And Cersei Lannister is so beautiful.”

“How on earth did you happen to make his acquaintance, Brienne?” Robb turned to her, tilting his head with its mass of auburn curls in her direction.

“By chance,” said Brienne, frowning slightly. “I happened to speak to him after his recent play, _The Fall of August_. I don’t imagine why he would remember me enough to invite me to his home.”

Robb raised his eyebrows. “Didn’t you give that one a bad review as well?”

“I did,” Brienne said, slowly. Robb raised an eyebrow at her.

“Well, I can’t wait to meet him,” said Sansa, with the enthusiasm that confirmed her eight and ten years. The pretty young girl widened her eyes. “He’s scandalous. Did you know that he caused a Lady to leave her husband for him? And that half of King’s Landing is in love with him?”

“I wouldn’t bring that up, Sansa,” Robb said, frowning at his little sister.

On the evening of the dinner, Sansa dressed carefully in her hand-embroidered lavender gown, which emphasized her tall, willowy frame and slim figure. She also took great pains to dress Brienne, much to her impatience. The girl went through her closet and scoffed at the selection she found there.

“Brienne, don’t you down any clothing that has colour?” Sansa asked, incredulous. And the answer to that was no, she did not. Finally, she settled on a dove grey gown which had a round neck that revealed just her collarbone. The skirts were long but not voluminous; she detested the feel of too many petticoats around her legs, which was why she was most comfortable in breeches while she was at home. Sansa took great pains to braid Brienne’s thin, straw-like hair into submission, until her hair was neatly piled away from her face. She looked in the mirror, turning to smile gently at the red-haired beauty. She suppressed an inward sigh; she was presentable and neat and clean looking, which were the best descriptions anyone could have for her. She knew she would never be pretty, and had mostly reconciled with that fact years ago.

Still, Robb smiled at both of them with pleasure as they came down the stairs, declaring how lovely they both looked. For that moment, she appreciated the Stark honesty, which made everything that came out of their mouths seem truthful.

The Lannisters lived in a large town home in the wealthy part of King’s Landing; the three of them were ushered inside with little fanfare and were led to a drawing room in which a fireplace was lit. Brienne noticed that while the furnishings were expensive, there was an air of artistic excess to the place: the paintings on the walls were either of strange landscapes or of scandalous nudes; fabrics of cushions and curtains were mismatched but somehow came together harmoniously. Books were strewn everywhere.

“Come in,” Tyrion Lannister, a short man with an odd but kind face, called to them. He handed them a glass of wine, then looked at each of them with shrewd eyes.

“Brienne Tarth, and the Starks,” he said, giving them each a handshake.

Cersei Lannister sat by the fire and smiled at them. The firelight highlighted her golden hair and luminous skin, and the red dress that she wore was cut low and revealed the tops of her full breasts. Robb smiled at her and she lifted her hand, allowing him to kiss it with a benign smile.

“Mr. Starks, Miss Stark, Miss Tarth,” Jaime Lannister greeted them, coming into the room in a resplendent suit and an artfully tied gold cravat. He turned to her. “Miss Tarth, I barely recognized you out of your suit and tie. I would never have taken you for a man,” he added cheekily.

Brienne frowned at him, while Robb gave her a puzzled look.

“I love your work on the stage,” burst Sansa to Cersei, smiling widely. Tyrion guffawed. Cersei, after giving her brother a peeved look, smiled gently at the girl. “Thank you, my dear.” Her mouth was red and full. “It is always good to hear from your audience.”

“You happen to be extremely fortunate, Miss Stark, to have seen one of Cersei’s last performances,” Jaime Lannister declared, grinning broadly.

Sansa raised her eyebrows, as Jaime came to stand next to Cersei’s chair, resting his hand on the soft velvet surface of the armchair.

“Yes,” Cersei said, a cold excitement in her eyes. “I’m getting married.” She smiled demurely. Brienne observed Jaime’s smiling face tighten a little.

Sansa was enthusiastic. Robb and Brienne murmured their congratulations.

“Cersei finally caught herself a stag,” Tyrion said dryly.

“Robert Baratheon,” Jaime clarified, frowning.

Robb raised his eyebrows. “Baratheon…the leader of the opposition party?”

“The very one.” Jaime said. “She’s lucky she’s a Lannister, because it would be a scandal if the possible future Prime Minister was going to marry _just_ an actress,” he said sardonically.

Cersei stared at her twin. “I haven’t been in too many productions, in truth.” She looked at them. “This acting hobby was just a favour to Jaime. You see, he needed someone to be his leading lady, and I happened to fit the role at the time.”

“Now you’re becoming someone else’s leading lady,” Tyrion remarked, a sly smile on his face. Cersei gave him a dark look.

Jaime turned to Brienne. “So you see, B. Tarth, perhaps now I will have time to pursue higher forms of writing that you’ll approve of, rather than my simple-minded, popular plays.” He smiled ironically at her.

They were interrupted by a servant, announcing that dinner was being served. Cersei took Robb’s arm, while Jaime offered his arm to young Sansa.

Tyrion smiled up at her. “I suppose that just leaves us, the odd ones.”

Brienne smiled down at him, smiling. “Yes, indeed. We odd ones.” It was impossible to take his arm, so she offered his hand instead, which he gratefully took.

Dinner was a fancy affair, and not what she nor the Starks were normally used to. The head of the table seat was empty as the pairs arranged themselves according to the order they came in. She sat across from Tyrion and next to Jaime.

“Tell me,” Cersei said, addressing Brienne. “You three live in the same house?” She sipped her wine. “Isn’t that...unusual? An unmarried woman living with…an eligible bachelor.”

Brienne and Robb exchanged embarrassed glances. It was not the first time they were asked this when they were out in society.

“Well, Robb and Sansa have only recently arrived. I’m good friends with their family – I stayed with them for a time in Winterfell.” She spooned some bisque into her mouth.

“Brienne is practically family,” added Sansa. Robb nodded, taking a big gulp of wine.

Brienne continued. “Whereas I have lived on my own for a while, since my father returned to Tarth four years ago. The house is large enough to accommodate both Robb and Sansa, so I thought it would be best if they stayed with me.”

“Your father…he does not mind you living with an unmarried man?” Cersei asked disapprovingly.

“Ah sister, but you don’t know Brienne’s father,” Jaime interjected, a brightness in his eyes. “Selwyn Tarth is the famous radical…he’d be the last person to care about societal propriety, isn’t that right?”

Brienne nodded. “He has…unconventional ideas; which is to add, I’m afraid he has passed them along to me.”

“And to our sister Arya,” Robb added, laughing. “She’s been running around in boy’s clothes and fighting with swords, our Arya.”

“That’s hardly the fault of the Tarths,” Sansa sniffed. “She’s been wild ever since she was born.”

“Is it true your father doesn’t believe in marriage?” Tyrion asked, his eyebrows raised.

Brienne looked at Tyrion evenly. “It’s true. He believes marriage is a result of a series of delusions by the parties involved; that it becomes a monopoly of the heart and mind, especially if it is entered into blindly.”

Cersei stared, shocked. Tyrion and Jaime chuckled.

“Of course,” Brienne continued, “My father _was_ married to my mother, in order for me to be legitimized and them not to be entirely shunned by society.”

“This is often true, isn’t it, how our philosophies, noble as they may be, cannot be translated into real, everyday society,” Robb said thoughtfully.

“What a droll idea,” Cersei said, puzzled.

“In order to live within one’s philosophies and stay true to them, one must be prepared to be apart from society. Or perhaps create your own society that believes in the same ideas,” Jaime offered, his green eyes intent on her.

She looked at him, impressed, slipping him a small smile. “Yes, that’s very true. Artists are one such group that seem to live apart from social convention,” she said, acknowledging Jaime beside her. He smirked knowingly.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing scandalous about my dear brother,” Tyrion said lightly. “Nothing _much_ , anyway,” Tyrion gave a pointed glance at Cersei. “He is unfortunately quite conventional, as far as society goes, even though he avidly writes his poems and plays, and is an _artiste_.”

“But, but…” Sansa impulsively burst out.

“Sansa.” Robb said, his voice a warning.

“What is it, young one,” Tyrion said, grinning. He looked at his brother teasingly. “Ah, she’s heard those dastardly rumours about you, my brother. That you ran away with married women, impregnated virgins…isn’t that the case, Sansa?”

The girl blushed prettily, looking down at her hands. Cersei rolled her eyes.

Jaime stole a glance at Brienne, an unreadable expression on his face. He broke out into a smile. “I’m sorry to disappoint, but alas, those rumours about me are completely unfounded. I have not ruined any maidens or married women. _Yet_ ,” he said, with a wolfish grin.

=====

Brienne kept busy at _The Examiner_ , reviewing every play and book, trying to earn as much money as she could. She had sold a few of her stories, silly romances and tales of revenge that she wrote in her spare time under a pseudonym; these sales kept her afloat financially, although in her heart she was ashamed to be writing such trash. She felt her own hypocrisy now – how she criticised Jaime Lannister for writing populist plays while she wrote forgettable stories in newspapers that titillated one day and were used to wrap fish the next.

She also had to admit that she was in a dire financial situation, though admittedly not of her own making. Four years ago, her father had given up his publishing business – he had been publishing books for children, and political works, and had been keeping the business afloat with personal gifts from his political and philosophical followers – but Mrs. Roelle (her stepmother, with whom she decidedly did not get along) birthed another child, and monetary gifts were no longer enough to support the business and the growing family. Her father had taken his new family back to their ancestral home in Tarth, where he continued to write and oversee the farms on the island. At the first chance of freedom, Brienne had taken it, choosing to stay in their King’s Landing house that she grew up in. The house was lovely and old, painted white; it was separated from the city by a large wild heath and gentle hills.

However, when her father left, she had inherited his debts, and creditors quickly came calling, asking for repayment. From her understanding, the house was in jeopardy. Letters to her father were answered in a vague way; he suggested they sell the house, if it had to come down to that. He suggested she join him in Tarth and his new family. Returning to Tarth to live with her stepmother was the last thing she wanted to do. So Brienne spent all of her time writing, begging the newspaper for more stories without success, and selling silly stories to the rags. She knew that it was only a matter of time that she would need to leave the house, sell father’s books, and find her own living arrangements.

Her guests did not know the extent of her financial difficulties – she had spoken to Robb about it, and he insisted on paying her rent to help, which she refused, and Sansa was as yet untroubled by the news. The Starks had their own monetary issues to deal with, especially since Ned Stark died four years ago, leaving Catelyn Stark with five children; it was with some desperation that she sent Sansa to King’s Landing with Robb, in order for her to find an eligible and wealthy husband. She sighed, rearranging the papers on her desk. She imagined that when it all happened, when the creditors finally demanded their payment for the last time, she would need to consider taking up a governess position for a wealthy family.

=====

Jaime had written to Brienne, asking permission to peruse her father’s library. He had arrived soon after she sent her reply, wrapped in a thick wool cloak, his cheeks pink from the walk across the heath. Their hands touched – briefly – as she accepted his cloak and hat from him. For a moment they were too close, their cheeks almost touching, but she quickly stepped away to hang his things in the closet. She wondered why he didn’t wear gloves, for she felt the chill of his fingers. He started when he looked at her, as usual, as if remembering her face after a long absence, which was ridiculous, as the dinner was less than a week ago.

She led him to the library, which in recent years served as her study. He looked around, scanning the shelves of books, the small printing press which was once used to print pamphlets, and little books, the large desk in front of the window that was covered with Brienne’s attempts at writing.

“When my father was around, he often would have young men over often to discuss politics and the state of the country. I remember always being surrounded by people discussing ideas, art, and politics.”

“And did you join in on the discussion?” Jaime asked, smiling mildly.

Brienne blushed, recalling how when she started growing up, her presence suddenly turned offensive. When her father was not there, some of the young men used to insult her because of her looks. She was mockingly called “Brienne the Beauty”; there was even a bet on who could take her maidenhead, which no one won, but for which a couple of the young men had received broken noses from her as a reward. Since then, she stayed in the shadows.

“No. Even with Selwyn Tarth as my father, my opinion was rarely sought out or listened to. Some of the young men were…unkind,” she said, mildly, her voice unexpectedly breaking. She felt a sudden warmth and pressure on her right hand. She was surprised to find Jaime holding her hand, rubbing it with his thumb.

“I’m sorry,” Jaime said softly. She looked at him in astonishment, but his face was not mocking, but kind. A shiver ran through her. She moved away toward the window.

“And you write as well, aside from your theatre reviews, Miss Tarth?” He looked down at the mess on her desk. Brienne quickly gathered up the papers and deposited them in the desk drawer. Jaime looked like he was suppressing a laugh.

She looked down and nodded. “Little scribbles here and there. Not poetry, nor politics or philosophy.” She looked wistful. “I’m afraid I haven’t inherited the political or philosophical mind of my father – or my mother.”

“Your mother?” Jaime leaned toward her, keen and interested.

Brienne opened up a cabinet next to the desk and pulled out two leather-bound volumes and passed them to Jaime. “She was an author, a thinker, with even more radical ideas than my father, if you can believe it.” She bit her lip. “But I suppose her ideas were considered more radical because she was writing about women and their education.”

Jaime gingerly perused the volumes with fascination. He looked up at her, his eyes bright with intelligence. “This is fascinating….” He looked down at the pages and up into her eyes, his expression tentative. “Is it permissible – I mean, may I – possibly borrow these?” His cheeks took on a pink tinge. “I promise to return them promptly and in excellent condition.”

Brienne burst into a big smile. He stared at her, as if surprised. She nodded. “Of course you can borrow these. We have multiple copies of her books, thank goodness, though they are not read these days, nor are they particularly well regarded.”

He smiled broadly, his dimples dazzling his face. “Thank you. I shall take good care of them.” He stared at the books in his hands, and suddenly remembering, looked at his pocket watch. He cursed under his breath at the time.

“I must go. My apologies for this sudden exit.” He stopped and looked into her eyes. He paused. “Will you allow me to call on you next week, Miss Tarth? I should surely like to return the books to you and discuss them.”

She nodded shyly. He took her and in his and kissed it. His lips were hot and dry on her skin and somehow made her whole arm tingle.

=====

When she returned from her editor’s office the following week, she found Jaime sitting by the fire with Robb and Sansa, who had a pretty piece of embroidery on her lap.

“Miss Tarth,” Jaime stood up when she entered the room. Robb gave her a smirk and winked at her. Sansa smiled, her cheeks luminous by the fire.

“Mr. Lannister,” Brienne greeted him, surprised at how genuinely happy she was to see him. She hung up her cloak and hat.

“Please, call me Jaime,” he said to her and the others.

“Then you must call of us by our names as well,” Sansa said, gazing at Jaime with a shy fondness. Jaime looked at Brienne for confirmation.

“Please do, Jaime. We are all friends here,” Brienne said. Jaime gestured for her to sit on the chair that he was sitting in, but she shook her head and plopped down on the rug, stretching her long legs in front of her and warming her feet. He smiled, and sat back down, staring at the length of her legs. She suddenly felt quite heated.

“Robb has been telling me he plans to go into politics,” Jaime said brightly.

Brienne looked at the auburn haired man, whose eyes twinkled at her. “Yes, he’s been barely here two moons, and he’s already gotten a clerkship with Brynden Tully.”

“Ah, the opposition. If you ever meet my father, don’t tell him that,” Jaime said, grinning.

“Lord Tywin Lannister, of course – he’s your father.” Robb said thoughtfully. He glanced over at Brienne. “I don’t know if Brienne told you, but I was one of the young men that hung to Selwyn Tarth’s every word every time I was in town visiting from Winterfell.”

“Is that how you met Brienne?” Jaime said, curious, looking between the two of them.

Robb shook his head. “Our fathers were old college friends, and although Winterfell is far from Kings Landing, we’ve managed to visit and stay in touch over the years.” He looked over at his sister, who had suddenly turned somber. “He’s gone now, though; my mother remains with our brothers and sisters up North.”

“And you both came down here to make your fortunes,” Jaime supplied, his words glib and his smile easy.

Sansa nodded. “I’m visiting for a couple of seasons. Mother hopes I might make a match here.”

“Not much chance of that, Sansa. We are not out in society much.” Robb patted his sister on the hand. The girl gave a longing look at Jaime.

“I fear that it’s my fault. I have no society about me, and I loathe parties.” She gave the Starks a crooked smile.

“Oh you never know. A pretty girl like you will catch any man’s eye,” Jaime said, winking at Sansa. The girl blushed, making her look even more lovely.

“And you, Brienne? Are you planning on making at match yourself?” Jaime asked, his eyebrows raised. “Or do you take after the beliefs of your father, that marriage is a delusion that places chains on one’s freedom?”

“I think that path is closed for me,” Brienne said simply. “Although I differ from my father in this opinion, especially in the context of women’s everyday lives: I believe in marriage and having children; in this imperfect society, marriage protects women from men’s inconstancy and whims.”

Jaime’s eyes narrowed and he looked at her shrewdly. “As to which of our sex is more inconstant, we shall have to debate that another time. I have my own opinion on that matter. But Brienne, why is that path closed to you, if it’s something that you perhaps might want?”

Robb looked at her with knowing eyes – they’d had this conversation before. Sansa was wide-eyed, perching on her seat in anticipation of a response.

“I know what I look like,” she began. Jaime started in surprise at her words. “Men do not want someone who looks like me for a wife, especially compounded with my modern ideas and general voicing of those ideas,” she said firmly. “I’ve been resigned to spinsterhood for some time.”

Jaime barked out a laugh. Brienne reddened and felt irritation rise within her. “How old are you? You must be no more than one and twenty-”

“I’m two and twenty,” Brienne said, her jaw tight.

“Ah, two and twenty. An advanced age. You are hardly a spinster. You are nowhere in the vicinity of spinsterhood.” Jaime stared at her. “And you have a poor opinion of our sex indeed if you believe that there aren’t plenty of men out there who would worship you for your looks.” He thoughtfully rubbed his chiseled chin. “And no one with eyes like yours can claim ugliness.”

Brienne could hardly stand the power of his gaze, how he so often stared at her and looked into her eyes. She looked down; he was wrong in what he said, but she nonetheless felt a warmth suffuse her at his words. Perhaps she was a soft girl after all, so easily moved by superficial male flattery.

Robb pressed his hand on top of hers, and looked over at her. “He’s right, you know, Brienne.” She felt herself grow pink. Sansa sat there, smiling at both her and Jaime.

Later, as he prepared to go, he reached into his leather satchel and pulled out the two books he’d borrowed and handed them back to her.

“Thank you for allowing me to read your mother’s books. She was a formidable woman indeed.” Jaime looked at her kindly.

She ran her fingers along the leather covers. “When I was a child, and even now, I went to these books when I needed comfort. When I needed my mother. These words were the only things I had left of her, for she died mere days after birthing me.”

“I see that she has guided you well, then, judging from the way you turned out.” Jaime said, suddenly stepping close to her. She could feel the heat of his cheek on her skin, how he smelled of pine trees and ink.

“I wish I had my own mother’s words like you do, Brienne,” he said to her cheek, his breath warm against her cheek. “She died when I was eight, and all I have left are vague, watery memories.”

“I’m sorry,” Brienne sighed. She had an impulse to press her lips into the angle of his jaw.

“Both of us, motherless, Brienne.” Jaime said, his hand coming up to gently stroke her cheek. Her skin tingled from his touch. He smiled softly and stepped back, fastening his dark cloak closer around him.

“Goodbye, Brienne. I shall see you again soon.” Jaime said, as he walked into the grey gloom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STORY NOTES:  
> Brienne is inspired by Mary Godwin Shelley, the author of Frankenstein. Her parents were famous thinkers, William Godwin, and Mary Wollstonecraft, who was a remarkable woman who died days after giving birth to her daughter. Some of their philosophies are discussed superficially in this chapter. 
> 
> AUTHOR NOTES:  
> I would love to hear what you think and any feedback you may have. I love reading comments, whether short or long.
> 
> Please kudos this work if you like it!
> 
> Thanks very much for reading.


	2. PART TWO: A Country House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne goes to a country weekend away and encounters the unexpected and horrifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Ro_Nordmann for the beautiful and stunning cover image!
> 
> I suppose the way I’m releasing this story is unusual, in four parts, each of which is extremely long. This chapter is a monster, at about 9K words. So take your time reading it and take breaks, lol. 
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH for your comments - I’m so glad the story has met with an enthusiastic response. Many of you are excited about the Mary Shelley inspiration, and that was one of the things that got me back to writing after I finished Sapphire Scalpel, my huge 220K word Edwardian fic. However, as I mentioned, the parallels are loose and are a weird mix of canon and the historical (for example, no Clare Claremont or Percy Shelley in this story). 
> 
> Mary Godwin Shelley’s actual early life was fascinating but tragic and full of loss; same with Byron. I dare say their lives are a lot more scandalous and dramatic than this fic you’re currently reading. (For example, Mary Shelley had dates with Percy Shelley at the local graveyard and ran away with him at the age of 16; Percy Shelley was a proponent of free love and was married when he ran away with Mary; Byron impregnated the 18 year old stepsister of Mary, Clare Claremont, after she relentlessly pursued him across the continent. He was quite unkind to her. I could go on.)
> 
> However, it was the story of the legendary summer in 1816 in which both vampire and Frankenstein stories were born that inspired me to write this story. I definitely wanted to do a take on the life-changing summer in Geneva where the Shelleys, Byron, Claire Claremont, and Dr. Polidori created a contest on who could write the scariest ghost story. That summer for them was very, very rainy. 
> 
> The poetry quoted here is by Lord Byron (more about this in end notes).
> 
> -

_(Cover Art by Ro_Nordmann)_

=====

The journey to the Isle of Faces lasted several hours, though the ride was easy enough through the Riverlands’ green hills and rolling fields. They had taken two carriages, one of which carried Tyrion, Robb, and Sansa, and other one carrying Jaime, Cersei and Brienne. For her, the idea of a weekend away did not improve as they progressed through their journey; she was comfortable enough with Jaime – indeed, they had become good friends and she liked him much more than she should – but it was Cersei who unnerved her. In the carriage, sitting opposite them, the combined effect of the twins’ beauty disorientated her: they were golden and sparkling, exuding a physical perfection that she suspected even the greatest painters could not capture. Being around them was like being caught staring at the sun.

Jaime was his usual self: genial, witty and half-teasing, dressed like the poet he was, in a fine embroidered velvet jacket, a wool cloak, and an artfully messy cravat, his long blond curls casually falling around his forehead. Cersei looked like a jewel, in a turquoise travel suit that was cut very close to her figure. Her eyes glinted at Brienne, her mouth in a perpetual frown as she regarded her face. The twins mainly conversed with each other, Jaime making amusing observations about the landscape and Cersei retorting with a sharp, incisive remarks. Beyond words, they seemed to communicate in looks as they regarded each other; these silent conversations were lost on Brienne and she soon tired of observing the two. She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep, until eventually, the rhythm of the horses’ hooves lulled her into real slumber.

She felt a hand press her shoulder firmly and immediately awoke, momentarily confused at where she was, but Jaime’s eyes shone with merriment as he reached out with a handkerchief and wiped a line of drool from the corner of her mouth. Brienne blazed with embarrassment. Cersei stared peevishly.

“We’re nearly there,” Jaime said, leaning back into his seat. His cravat was slightly askew. Cersei stared at her, the corners of her mouth turned up. Two bright spots of pink were on her cheeks, making her even more girlish and lovely. They got out of the carriage and Brienne saw that they were at the dock of a large, still lake. She could see their destination, a green mass of land the shape of a sleeping cat in the middle of the water. She walked toward Robb and Sansa, who were getting out of their carriages. Sansa was wide-eyed, bright with excitement. Robb smirked at Brienne, as if to silently complain about his younger sister’s enthusiasm. Tyrion looked at her with an interested eye, giving her a friendly nod.

They knocked on the ferryman’s door and paid their fare. The ferry itself was a large, flat wooden vessel made of wood, big enough to transport horses and a carriage, propelled by pole and length of rope which was strung across the water to the island.

“The God’s Eye lake,” Jaime announced to the group.

“It seems appropriately divine,” Brienne remarked, taking in the calm beauty of its dark blue waters.

“I’ve only visited, but never stayed there,” Tyrion added. “It’s a lovely but strange spot.”

They crossed the ferry in two trips, with the three Lannisters going first, much to Tyrion’s silent amusement, and the Starks and Brienne in the second crossing. The trip was short, lasting about ten minutes, and the waters were calm, the sun was shining. All three of them were silent, enjoying the stillness that descended upon them as they crossed over.

She glanced at Sansa, who was looking ahead at the island with an eager smile on her face. She had been worried about bringing along the girl. Because Brienne grew up in intellectual and artistic circles in King’s Landing, she knew of the types of gatherings that artists held, even though she never personally attended them. She often heard talk of parties involving not only poetry and music, but also women, sex, and drugs like opium. When the three of them received invitations to the weekend at the Isle of Faces, she almost immediately declined, even though she did enjoy the company of Jaime and Tyrion Lannister. But Sansa was determined to go. Brienne still insisted on informing Catelyn by letter, who surprisingly encouraged her daughter to attend, as long as Robb and Brienne were also attending. Robb, ever mindful of his mother’s wishes, promised to look after his sister.

When the three arrived on the island, they saw a very angry looking Cersei and Tyrion, and an exasperated Jaime.

“Sansa,” Cersei called out to the young girl, “Come ride with us, little dove.” Sansa gave Brienne a small pleased smile and walked toward the twins.

Tyrion climbed into the carriage, sitting opposite Brienne and Robb.

“Never put all three Lannister siblings on the same ferry…or the same carriage,” Tyrion drolly stated, his one green eye and one black eye sparkling.

He leaned toward Brienne. “Tell me, did you enjoy the very long carriage ride with my brother and sister?”

Brienne looked down at her hands. “I mostly slept, to be honest. But being around the two of them is a little strange….”

“You don’t say,” said Tyrion, fascinated.

“I think it’s because they’re twins, but they have a way of making one feel….”

“Left out? Exiled? Abandoned?” Tyrion grinned. “Welcome to my life…”

Brienne nodded empathetically.

“They are very good-looking, though,” Robb remarked.

“Ah yes. You can imagine how it was for me, growing up around these two beautiful fools.” He stared at her shrewdly. “But I imagine you’re the only one who would understand exactly what it felt like.”

She nodded. “The odd ones.”

“The freaks.” Tyrion supplied, grinning at Brienne.

“Hey, now I’m feeling left out here,” Rob exclaimed.

Brienne reached over and squeezed his thigh until he cried out, “Ouch! Brienne.”

“Robb. You are not allowed to complain about your handsomeness. Gods!” Brienne said peevishly. Robb grinned, jostling her with his shoulder. Tyrion let out a loud laugh.

=====

By the time they drove over to the sole estate on the Isle of Faces, the sun had started to set and the air had begun to grow cool. They passed what looked to be large swathes of forest, until they came upon sweeps of meticulously manicured lawns with symmetrical walled hedges and fountains. The house itself was large and made of dark stone, and loomed menacingly into the sky.

They were greeted by one of the largest men Brienne had ever seen, not only half a head taller than her, but broader and more muscular as well. He looked to be in his late twenties, and would have been handsome if not for the fact that half of his face was marred with horrific burn scars. He wore his dark, lank hair long to cover the facial scars and his non-existent ear. He had a scowl on his face.

“Sandor Clegane,” Jaime greeted the man. “I heard you were the keeper of this place now. Is everything ready?”

The man nodded, glancing over the guests. He paused when his eyes fell upon Brienne and paused even longer when he saw Sansa climb down from the carriage behind her.

“The rooms are prepared. The help are ready for you.” Sandor’s voice was gruff and deep. Two young men, one short and dark-haired and the other tall and dark-haired, helped unload the carriages and started to bring their bags inside.

“One of your guests arrived early this morning, by the way,” Sandor said, scowling.

“Excellent news,” Tyrion said. Cersei looked bored and barely glanced at the man, and took her brother’s arm to enter the house.

Brienne insisted on carrying her own bag, as it was not heavy and would save the young men a trip to her room. A fire had been lit there, and a pitcher of warm water and a large basin had been left for her to use, along with fine soaps and towels. She was surprised and glad she did not have to share rooms with either Sansa or – gods forbid – Cersei. The room was small, but the wallpaper was a cool, serene blue and the large bed cozy.

She quickly washed and changed into an evening dress, a dark grey one that she’d had for years. After she was done, she knocked on the room next door to see if Sansa was ready. The young woman opened the door, wearing an elegant soft green dress with a scooped neck.

“You look lovely, Sansa,” Brienne said.

Sansa smiled and said, “Brienne, I do hope you’ve packed some colourful dresses. You’re forever wearing grey.”

Brienne took her arm and they walked down the staircase together, entering the drawing room where Tyrion was already sitting by the fire, a glass of whisky in his hand.

He stood up. “Ladies,” Tyrion crooned. Robb entered the room at the same time.

A curly, dark-haired man who had been looking out the window with his back to them turned around. His grey eyes widened in surprise. “Robb? Sansa?”

The Starks exclaimed in surprise, as they appeared to recognize the man. “Jon?” asked Robb, breaking into a wide grin, while Sansa squealed. They both hugged the stranger, whose quiet smile lit up his whole face.

“How you’ve grown, Sansa. Well, both of you!” Jon said, taking them in with his eyes.

Tyrion observed the proceedings with surprise. “I see you’ve met Dr. Jon Snow. He’s helped me when I’ve had bouts of severe leg pain, and we’ve come to be good friends.”

“Gods, you’re a doctor, Jon!” Sansa exclaimed in a high-pitched voice.

Robb grinned at Tyrion and Brienne. “This is our cousin. He used to live with us, but we lost touch with him four years ago, after father died.”

Jon gazed at Brienne, his eyes twinkling. Robb cleared his throat. “This is Brienne Tarth. She writes reviews for _The Examiner,_ amongst other literary pursuits. We are staying at her home in King’s Landing.”

Without thinking, Brienne held out her hand like a gentleman and Jon ultimately shook it, his lips widening into a smile at her bold gesture. Gods, she was awkward and manly. She felt herself blush.

“I’ve heard about you from the family’s visits to King’s Landing, but I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you,” Jon said to her.

“No. When I visited Winterfell two years ago, you were already gone.” She looked at the pale, handsome young man with interest. There seemed to be many stories hidden behind his vaguely melancholy contenance.

Just then, Jaime and Cersei Lannister marched into the room, arm in arm, looking like Lord and Lady of the manor. At dinner, the Lannisters dominated the conversation, and Brienne thought how wonderful it was to belong to a family that was so quick in thought and wit. In contrast, she was slow, deliberate and thoughtful. Like a cow, she thought. The Lannisters, perhaps because Cersei and Jaime were in theatre, were dramatic and appeared to love to be the centre of attention. Tyrion also loved to be listened to, constantly peppering his speech with amusing jokes and anecdotes designed to make his audience laugh. 

The next day, Brienne woke early and put on breeches and a white linen blouse; she had packed lightly and only brought dresses for the evening. She shrugged; they were all familiar with each other, and she had no qualms about offending society on this secluded isle. It was early, and no one was in the breakfast room save Jaime Lannister, who looked her up and down and grinned at the sight of her.

“Playing the gentleman again, are you, Miss Tarth?”

She smiled at him as she took a seat. “As Robb and Sansa can attest, this is something I wear often at home. It’s ever so practical for walking. Does it offend you?”

Jaime shook his head, pouring her a cup of coffee. “On the contrary. It rather plays up your _assets_ quite well.” He smirked and threw her a seductive glance.

Brienne nearly laughed; one could almost think he was flirting with her. She was familiar with these artist types, how they say absurd things, exaggerate whatever little inkling of feeling they may be having at the time, how they always try to make the world fall in love with them.

With no one else around, Jaime suggested they go out for a walk and Brienne readily agreed; it was a glorious and warm morning already, with sunshine filtering through sparse clouds. In the daylight, the estate looked much less intimidating. They walked around the large grounds, across little bridges and around ornamental plants and precisely shaped hedges.

“Why did you choose to come here, Jaime? You said you’d never been?”

Jaime nodded. “Tyrion recommended it to me. It has history, you know. They say the Children of the Forest lived here, and battled the First Men. There is a large weirwood forest in the middle of the island, the most ancient trees you’ll ever see.”

“I’d like to visit. May we?” Brienne asked. “I’m sure the others would like to see it as well.”

Jaime looked at her and nodded. “We can arrange an outing today. I believe it is within easy walking distance, as is most of the isle.”

“So you wanted to come here for the history,” Brienne said, continuing her line of inquiry.

“I’m always looking for inspiration,” Jaime said, his voice exultant as he breathed the air deeply.

They came across an old cottage, well maintained, but evidently empty. It was a garden house of sorts. Jaime grinned and opened the door for her. “Shall we, my lady?”

There was a table and chairs; a narrow little daybed, a fireplace. Jaime sat on the bed and beckoned Brienne to sit beside him.

“I wager there have been many a secret tryst here,” Jaime mused, his hand running through the thick curls of his hair. Her palms itched, and she wondered how those golden locks would feel under her fingers. “Some forbidden love between two besotted young lovers.” He looked at her, his green eyes soft. “Can’t you just imagine it, Brienne?”

Her mind flashed to a vision of bodies naked in front of the fireplace, _her_ body with _Jaime’s_ naked golden body, them _touching_. A heat radiated through her whole frame. Jaime stared at her.

“You must have quite the imagination if the thought made you so blush so deeply,” Jaime said teasingly.

Brienne abruptly stood up. “I – I – we ought to return,” she stammered.

Jaime chuckled. He stood in front of her, regarding her with a curious expression. His hand reached out to touch the collar of her shirt, his fingers grazing her collarbone. “I _do_ like this on you,” Jaime said, his face suddenly near.

Brienne, startled, stepped back toward the door. “Let us go,” she repeated, blushing horrendously.

=====

It was only Cersei that seemed to be offended at Brienne’s unconventional choice of clothing. Dressed in a close fitting pink day gown that emphasized her shapeliness, she took a long look at Brienne coming into the room with Jaime and sneered. Jaime gave her a warning look, and her face settled into a mock placidity.

“Dear Brienne, had I known you were so in need of clothes, I would have offered you some of my gowns,” Cersei said, her voice soft with sincerity. “However, they’d hardly fit. I’m afraid you’re just much too…large for any of them. Your proportions are…unfortunate, especially for a woman.” Jaime moved toward his sister and gave her shoulder a warning squeeze. Cersei’s gaze was challenging when she glared back at him.

Tyrion gave his sister an annoyed look. “I think she looks capital, like a Sothoryos warrior,” he countered.

“I quite agree,” Jon Snow said suddenly, giving Brienne an admiring look. “She looks like a painting of a goddess that I saw at the National Gallery.”

Brienne waved off the compliments along with Cersei’s barbs. Gods, she had heard it all before, the unkind words about her face and body. In the immediate reaction, these insults did little to wound her; she had trained herself to laugh or scoff at them. _Words are wind_ , she’d repeat to herself. Nonetheless, she could not keep the barbs from later entering her mind and a little into her soul. The words came back in the middle of the night, or when she was in front of a mirror, and especially when she was dressed up in an absurd gown. Words would come back, mocking, and with ten times the poison with which they had been originally delivered. Still, in the daylight of the breakfast room amongst the guests, she brushed the insult off with a confident smile.

They had decided to walk to the weirwood forest, following Jaime’s suggestion. They strolled slowly, stopping intermittently on the way, as Cersei and Sansa’s skirts often got caught on branches of the thick forest.

“It seems like Miss Tarth had the best idea with regards to attire,” observed Tyrion. Jaime laughed uproariously, much to Cersei’s foul stare.

The walk took barely an hour despite the slow progress they had made. The jovial atmosphere of the group changed as they entered the weirwood grove. The green leaves above them were now a brilliant red, and looked like they were on fire with the sunlight filtering through them. The trees were large and old, their branches gnarled and knotted, their bark the purest white. A feeling of eerie tranquility settled around them. They were all too nervous to speak. Brienne gasped as she examined the trees – each of them had a face on it – carved, she thought, but perhaps not – gaping eyes, an open mouth, from which blood red sap had once flowed. It was more than a little strange, but not frightening. They all took their time, walking around the forest, murmuring to each other.

Cersei clung to Jaime, frantically whispering in his ear, her face terrified. Brienne stared at them.

She reached out to touch one of the trees, tracing its eyes and mouth. She felt an overwhelming sense of peace and affection coming from the tree into her. Unbidden, she thought of her mother, who had died so that she would be born. The thought occurred to her that her death was her mother’s final act of love for her.

“Cersei wants to go. I’m going to walk her back, if anyone cares to join us.” Jaime called out, her arms around his sister’s waist, supporting her. Distress was evident on the woman’s face. They all made a movement to get up and follow the pair. All except Brienne.

“I’m going to stay here a little longer. I can make my own way back,” she said loudly.

“Are you sure?” Robb said, his hand on her shoulder. Brienne nodded. He nodded, and turned to join the others.

“I shall stay with Brienne as well,” Sansa declared. “I’d like to be here a little more.” The group moved on.

“It’s peaceful here, isn’t it, Brienne?” Sansa said, her hands touching a weirwood tree.

Brienne nodded. She sat at the base of a tree, leaning her head against the trunk. “It is. I haven’t felt so calm in a long time.”

“My father worshiped the old gods,” Sansa said. “There’s a weirwood tree in our land that he always used to sit beside. But since his death, I haven’t been back there.” A tear ran down the girl’s face. “And being here now, I feel strangely close to him. Isn’t that odd?”

Brienne smiled at the girl. “Not odd at all. I had thoughts about my own mother when I first touched the tree. Somehow, I’m less melancholy.”

They eventually got up and started walking back.

“Brienne, do you think Jaime Lannister likes the way I look?” the young girl said unexpectedly.

She glanced sharply at her hopeful face. “You are very beautiful, Sansa. Any man would think that.”

Sansa smiled sweetly. She looked at Brienne, her expression tentative. “You know Jaime well, don’t you? You are good friends, are you not?”

Brienne nodded. “I suppose so.”

The girl continued. “Do you – do you think he can come to care for me? I know he’s a little old, over thirty, and I’m a little young, but I suspect he might make a good match for me. He’s terribly handsome and terribly wealthy.”

Brienne was silent, taken aback by Sansa’s words. In some ways, it made sense – both of them were so beautiful, and Sansa was kind and patient, and could likely bear Jaime’s more irritating behaviours and near constant talk.

“I really don’t know, Sansa,” Brienne honestly replied. “We are friends, yes, but I fear I don’t have access to the contents of Jaime’s heart. He has not spoken to me of you or of any other woman. I don’t even know if he desires marriage.”

Sansa nodded, thoughtful. Suddenly the girl faltered; Brienne heard a startled cry, and Sansa tumbled to the ground, hissing in pain. The girl’s skirts had caught on a branch again, and she tripped on a root. She sat there, crumpled on the ground, clutching her right ankle.

Brienne tried to help her up, but she could not bear any weight on it for pain.

“I can’t walk,” Sansa said. Brienne sighed, and proceeded to lift the young woman into her arms. She was slim and light, but Brienne knew she’d be struggling by the end.

“Brienne! Put me down! On that stump there.” Sansa sat there, grimacing. “I forbid you to carry me back. It’s unladylike.”

“Sansa, it’s no trouble-” Sansa waved her concern away, her face frowning in concentration.

“No. Go and get help. Get one of the men. Perhaps Jaime.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone, Sansa.”

Sansa pouted. “I’ll be fine, Brienne. Now go. Don’t run, I don’t want you to trip.” Her face was determined, stubborn.

“Alright,” Brienne sighed, and started walking quickly toward the house.

In truth, Brienne thought she could have carried the girl back, though she had to admit she would have been tired after. It was curious, however, that she asked specifically for Jaime. She did not want to assign schemes to the young woman, but it certainly made her suspicious. Still, the most important thing now was to get help. Brienne quickened her pace and started jogging once she left the forest and entered the flat expanse of lawn. She was headed straight to the house when she spotted Sandor Clegane near the stables. She turned toward him.

He looked up from brushing an immense black stallion and stared up at her, his eyes sliding up and down her outfit. He didn’t look happy to see her, but neither did he look unhappy. She made a point to look at him straight in the eye.

“Mr. Clegane,” she began.

“Sandor,” he said, interrupting.

“Sandor. I’m-”

“I know who you are. Brienne Tarth.” His eyes were dark, but he showed a spark of interest.

“I would request your assistance. Most urgently,” she said in a rush, thinking he might interrupt once again.

“Go on,” he said.

“My friend, Sansa Stark-”

“The little red-haired bird?” He raised his eyebrows.

She nodded. “We were in the forest, walking back, and she twisted her ankle and is unable to walk.”

“You want me to bring her back, do you?” Sandor said, amused.

Brienne nodded.

He exhaled dramatically and gave her an annoyed look. “Lead the way,” Sandor said.

They walked for perhaps fifteen minutes before they stumbled upon Sansa, sitting patiently on her little stump of wood. She gasped in surprise when she beheld the man Brienne had brought to help.

“Don’t be afraid, little bird. I’m here to help you,” Sandor said gently, as if he were speaking to a startled fawn.

Sansa very impolitely stared at the man’s facial scars. Sandor regarded her with patience.

“Look all you want, Sansa Stark. I don’t mind.”

With those words, Sansa came back to herself and blushed. Sandor, the great big man he was, scooped the girl up as if she weighed next to nothing, and started walking slowly back through the forest. Sansa looked surprised, but soon relaxed in his arms, staring up at the unmarred side of his face.

When they approached the house, Robb and Jon ran out, panicked. Brienne reassured them, and they all went inside, where Sansa was very gently deposited on a chaise lounge.

“Thank you, sir,” Sansa stammered, blushing and flustered. She looked up at the man with admiration. Sandor grunted. He nodded and walked back out, presumably to return to the stables.

Jon returned to the room with his medical bag. He examined his cousin’s foot, pressed it a little, and proceeded to wrap it.

“Just a sprained ankle.” Jon said, smiling down at the girl. “Stay off your feet, rest.” He looked around at Jaime, who had entered the room. He widened his eyes at the sight of the injured girl.

“Do you have ice?”

Jaime nodded. “Yes. There’s an ice house out back.”

=====

Cersei was in a particularly foul mood that evening; she had retired to her chambers after the outing, with Jaime explaining to them that she had an upset in the woods. But at dinner the woman reappeared, more beautiful than ever, making sharp, cutting remarks to her brothers and being particularly insulting to Tyrion, who seemed to bear her mood with resigned experience. The other guests she completely ignored, save the near venomous looks she was giving to Brienne, which puzzled her exceedingly. Jaime compensated for his twin’s ill humour by being even more jovial and talkative than usual, his spirits undimmed by the storm clouds of his sister’s sullenness.

Sansa was well, though the ankle still pained her and she was unable to put weight on her injured foot; Sandor, absent since they had arrived, appeared at regular intervals throughout the afternoon, bringing Sansa ice, helping transfer her things to a downstairs room. The girl thanked the large man with a bright smile and blush each time, but he rarely lingered, just giving her a small quiet nod.

A violent storm descended suddenly as they were all sitting in the drawing room; Tyrion was playing cyvasse with Robb, while Jon quietly read aloud to Sansa next to the fire. Cersei and Jaime were talking quietly in the corner of the room, their heads bowed toward one another, hands frequently touching. Brienne was idly playing on the pianoforte, playing melodies that had been drilled into her as a child, the music flowing from her fingers with ease, drawn out from memory. Jaime looked up at her from time to time, his eyes assessing; then he was beside her, leaning roguishly on the instrument, his gaze following her hands and moving to her face.

“You play well, my lady.” he said, leaning over her.

“Do you mean to distract me, Jaime?”

“Do I so easily distract you with my presence?” He pulled up a chair beside her, sitting so close that she could feel the velvet of his jacket brush as she moved her arms.

Instead of responding, Brienne launched into an intricate, difficult piece that required all of her concentration. She heard him chuckle, a deep sound that seemed to resonate inside her. She furrowed her brow. When the piece ended, she looked over, and saw that Jaime had his eyes closed, listening, his face smoothed and content. He opened his eyes and all she saw was green. Her heart sped up. He looked at her, smiling, and casually stroked the fingers on her left hand. Brienne hitched her breath.

“Jaime,” Cersei called out, her voice demanding. “I need you.” As if branded, Jaime removed his hand and bolted up, looking apologetically to Brienne and taking back his seat beside his sister.

The woman scrutinized Brienne’s face. “Isn’t strange how such beautiful music can come out of someone so…ugly?” Cersei smiled crookedly. Jaime made a noise of disapproval, giving his sister a stern look.

Everyone stopped their activity at Cersei’s remark and looked up.

The storm outside was intensifying, and heavy drops of rain lashed violently against the window panes, the wind battering leaves and branches against the walls of the estate.

“Cersei, must you be so incessantly monstrous?” Tyrion said, irritated. “Have you once, in your whole life, ever _tried_ to be kind?”

“Tyrion, that’s not fair,” Jaime began. 

Cersei’s face twisted in anger. “You dare call me monstrous? You, the most hideous, deformed half-man alive? It’s a wonder you’re still breathing! Father should have drowned you like a puppy, for the runt that you are!” Cersei stood up, rage making her eyes bright. Jaime leaned over and whispered in her ear, pulling her away from the room; Cersei reluctantly allowed him to lead her out, her eyes glaring at Tyrion all the while.

No one said anything. Outside, the wind howled and thunder sounded in the distance. Brienne got up from the pianoforte and sank herself down on a settee near the fire. She looked over at Tyrion.

“Thank you, Tyrion, for coming to my defense,” she said.

Tyrion smirked. “Such that it was.” He looked at her, his mismatched eyes perceptive. “She seems to have a special dislike for you, judging from the daggers her eyes have been throwing at you.”

“But Brienne’s the kindest person! How can anyone not like her?” Sansa burst out, her expression puzzled.

“Sansa…,” Brienne started to say.

“My brother and sister have a particular bond,” Tyrion said carefully. “And anyone who gets between them has been the object of scorn from her. Not many – if any – have gotten between them.”

Brienne stared at him. “I don’t understand,” she said.

“You wouldn’t,” Tyrion said. “But I’ve been witness to their strange relationship since I was born. It’s hard to explain,” he said enigmatically.

Outside, the wind howled like someone in pain; the shutters rattled. Thunder boomed, and was followed by bright flashes of lightning.

Jaime returned to the room, smiling as if Cersei’s outburst had never happened, and took a seat beside Brienne.

“She is just over tired,” Jaime said, by way of explanation.

Sansa studied his face admiringly, then shyly asked, “Jaime, would you grace us with one of your poems?”

His face took on a charming expression, his mouth turned up in pleasure.

“You did not even have to ask, Sansa.” Tyrion rolled his eyes.

Jaime gave his brother a mock hurt look and reached into his jacket. “As it happens, I’ve been working on this poem for a little while. It’s not one of my popular theatre pieces,” he said, eyes twinkling at Brienne, “So you might like it.”

He opened the paper, paused and started to read, his voice rich and calm:

_She walks in beauty, like the night_

_Of cloudless climes and starry skies;_

_And all that’s best of dark and bright_

_Meet in her aspect and her eyes;_

_Thus mellowed to that tender light_

_Which heaven to gaudy day denies._

_And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,_

_So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,_

_The smiles that win, the tints that glow,_

_But tell of days in goodness spent,_

_A mind at peace with all below,_

_A heart whose love is innocent!_

All were silent, as Jaime recited the last few lines with restrained passion. Brienne was silently moved; her heart grew as he spoke those words, and she felt the palpable core of love within those lines. Sansa’s eyes were wet and big, her face fawning. The men smiled into the fire, lost in thought.

“Jaime,” Brienne managed to say, “It’s beautiful. Truly.”

He looked at her for a long time, smiling faintly. A seriousness seemed to have descended on him.

“Is it…is it about someone in particular?” Sansa asked, her face awed. Tyrion cleared his throat, looking at Jaime strangely.

Jaime frowned as he looked into the fire. “Yes, it is…it is about someone,” Jaime said, and fell silent.

“One can feel…great love there,” Brienne remarked quietly, “The way the woman is talked about – it’s not just her physical beauty he admires, though doubtless I’m sure she is remarkably beautiful, but it’s about the beauty in the way she just… _is_ , the way she moves, speaks, thinks.”

Jaime stared at her.

“I knew someone like that once,” Jon spoke, a sadness in his eyes. “A woman whom I thought was the most beautiful, lively being…alas, she perished.” Sansa, her face full of pity, took his hand.

At that moment, a violent clap of thunder and flash of lightning illuminated the room. Everyone gave a start and Sansa shrieked. A svelte figure came into the room – Cersei, who squeezed herself at the end of the settee, next to Jaime, sitting so close that she was nearly on his lap. He moved closer to Brienne, making room for his sister.

“Why are you all so dour?” Cersei laughed, looking at the group. “A little thunder doesn’t make you nervous, does it?” She turned to Jaime. “Remember when we were children, we used to run outside during rain and thunderstorms?”

“I remember,” Jaime said quietly, looking at Cersei with wide eyes. Brienne thought there was some mysterious expression in them.

“Jaime was always a little scared, but I was never afraid.” Cersei smiled, “Casterly Rock was on the Sunset Sea and had the biggest storms.” She gave her brother a private, meaning-laden glance. Tyrion merely looked sad as he looked between the two.

Jaime had brightened at this point, and announced, “Let’s tell ghost stories! We are, after all, on the Isle of Faces, the home of the Children of the Forest and the First Men. There’s even a violent storm outside. Perhaps we can even have a wager on who can write the best ghost story?”

Tyrion smiled. “I do have a few scary tales in my pocket,” he said. “But I will leave the actual writing of original stories to the writers in this room,” he said, looking pointedly at Jaime and Brienne.

Robb and Jon looked at one another and grinned. Robb leaned forward in his seat. “At Winterfell, there was an old woman, who took care of many generations of Stark children, called Old Nan. We never figured out how old she was, but she was ancient. She used to tell us all sorts of ghost tales.” 

Everyone settled in, ready and listening.

Jon spoke next, taking over. “There was a tale of Mad Axe, a brother of the Night’s Watch, who had a long red beard and served at the ancient Nightfort. One night, for no reason at all, he slowly crossed the frozen yards, climbed the tower and walked down the halls to where his brothers slept. With his axe, he started killing the sleeping brothers, one by one, never making a sound. There was one survivor, who hid under the bed. He said the only thing that he could hear was the dripping of hot red blood from the murderer’s axe, elbows, and wet beard onto the floor.”

Brienne shivered. Somehow, the story was made even scarier by the raging storm outside. Cersei looked entertained.

Robb grinned. “Here’s another one from Old Nan. She told us of The Thing That Came in the Night. The story also takes place at the Nightfort. A group of apprentice boys awoke from sleep, hearing a strange noise. They all saw this Thing, and all were wide awake. It terrified them. No one knew what the thing was – each of the boys’ descriptions of it was widely different. But within the year, one by one, the boys were found dead from no apparent cause. The one boy who didn’t die, went utterly mad.”

The fire crackled, and Sansa shivered.

“Oh, I have a Northern tale as well,” Tyrion said eagerly. “This one is about an ancient Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch who fell in love with an icy, white-skinned maiden, whose eyes were blue like ice. He chased her and married her and when he gave her his seed, his soul went along with it. He declared himself the Night’s King and his bride the Night’s Queen. During their reign they killed, maimed and committed all sorts of atrocities; eventually the Lords of the south worked together and killed him. His name was then struck off the history books forever. No one knows who he actually was.”

Jaime gave his brother an odd look. The clock struck. A strange mood pervaded the air. They all retired to their rooms. The storm had calmed, only gusts of wind blowing the trees outside.

In the moonlight, her room looked much less welcoming than it did by the light of day, as she tucked the blankets around her. The wind was howling, blowing through the shutters and rattling them. She tried to close her eyes and sleep, but she couldn’t help the nervous churning in her belly. Outside, the wind almost sounded like a woman wailing.

She stared at the ceiling, and saw shadows flicker against it, almost as if they were creatures moving around each other; she shivered. Suddenly, a giant black shadow filled the room and stretched into a figure of a man with long arms and legs and a thin, stern face; he was holding a sword. He loomed above her. Brienne held her breath and shrank back; her heart was pounding and she could feel the blood rush from her head. Then, she saw a vision of a throat being sliced open, dark red blood pouring out the wound, a person collapsing; she could hear the drips of blood fall on the floor. The long shadow turned to her and started to walk toward her, his sword dripping darkness.

Fear gripped her, but her senses sharpened, her breaths slowed, and she launched herself from her bed and ran out the door; all of a sudden she felt she had to check on Sansa – she opened the room next door and felt terror clutch her chest when she found the bed empty; she then remembered that Sansa was sleeping downstairs. Still, the fear did not leave her, although it lessoned now that she saw that the shadow was not pursuing her. She ran quickly down the stairs and toward Sansa’s room. She eased open the girl’s door quietly. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her sleeping peacefully, quietly breathing. Brienne closed the door and shook her head. She felt foolish and stupid; it was unlike her to be such a scared little girl, all over an imagined shadow. Those damned ghost stories, she thought to herself.

She walked back down the corridor and heard voices; curious now and still a little nervous, she followed the sounds and saw a shaft of light come from the bottom of a closed door. The door opened and she saw a hand on the door; Brienne ducked behind a corner, cursing herself for her stupidity. The hand retreated, and low, angry voices were emerging from the room. She told herself to walk by and return to her room. She started to move, but found herself looking as she passed the room. The Lannister twins were staring at each other intently. She willed herself to continue walking but was mesmerized by their expressions. Cersei was rearranging her robe, her face angry, and Jaime looked pained.

“We can’t do this anymore,” Jaime said, the firelight illuminating his perfect profile. “You’re getting married.”

“That’s precisely why we can do this,” Cersei said in a demanding tone.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” he burst out, anguished. “Cersei, I cannot continue like this,” he continued, staring at her with wide, dark eyes.

“Curious how you have the gall to say this to me _after_ we just fucked and you filled me with your seed?” Cersei said, smiling cruelly. She traced her fingers up and down his chest. He sighed, crumpling into her, pressing her body to his.

She pulled away and stared at her brother, tilting her head. “You should get married too, Jaime. Take your inheritance and place as Lord Lannister.”

Brienne felt dizzy, her mouth dry, her face frozen in shock. She had to put her hands over her mouth to stifle a gasp. A wave of disgust and disbelief washed over her. She quietly tiptoed away, and after a while, ran into the common room. Her head was throbbing; she did not want to return to her room, to those shadows. She looked outside, where the moon was so bright it illuminated the trees and garden. She had a wild impulse to get out of the house. She opened the door and stepped out, closing the door quietly behind her.

The grass was wet, but the rain had stopped; only the wind remained, wildly blowing her white nightgown around her and releasing her hair from its lonely loose braid. She closed her eyes and stood in the middle of the garden for a few minutes, enjoying the wind’s power pushing her, filling her ears and the shocked spaces of her being. She then remembered the little cottage that she encountered this morning on her walk with Jaime, and the little place seemed inviting, a stark contrast to the dark monolith of the main house. She walked swiftly toward it, feeling the wetness of the grass through her thin slippers.

The little cottage, glowing by the light of the moon, looked small and enchanting. She went inside, and noticed that in the moonlight, she could still see the furniture and the bed. She sat on the bed, feeling miserable. A sense of fear lingered, and she was filled with a profound disbelief at what she just heard and saw. She was also disgusted at herself for intentionally listening to their private conversation. She lay down on the bed, and tried to close her eyes. Suddenly, the door opened; Brienne sat up quickly, knees to her chest. She gasped loudly.

“Brienne?” a familiar voice called out. Her insides shuddered when she recognized it was the voice of Jaime.

He stepped from the shadow into the moonlight, looking like the Night’s King himself. She shivered.

“Brienne, are you all right?” he asked, his voice full of concern.

“Jaime,” she managed to eke out, her voice shaking. “Yes, I’m – I’m fine.”

He approached her cautiously, perching on the corner of the bed, facing her. He frowned. “I saw you, standing in the middle of the garden, the wind whipping at you; I thought for a moment you were a ghost.” He looked at her with wide eyes. “Then you ran off, and I was worried.”

“Thank you.” Brienne could not look into his eyes. “I had a bad – dream – I was frightened and couldn’t get back to sleep.” She looked down at her hands.

“Oh?”

She swallowed. “I went downstairs to check on Sansa.”

“Oh.” His voice was soft. There was a silence. “Look at me, Brienne,” he said, pleadingly.

She raised her eyes to his, and he flinched, closing his own eyes in pain. His breath was ragged. “You saw us in the study.”

She nodded, the blood draining from her face.

“You know…about Cersei…and me.” His eyes were dark pools of anguish and panic.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and he raised his head sharply at the words. “I shouldn’t have listened. It was only a moment. I should have just walked past and gone back up to my room.”

“ _You’re_ sorry?” Jaime said wonderingly.

“It’s entirely none of my business.”

Jaime put his head in his hands and groaned. Brienne felt a pang of sympathy for the man, who was in obvious pain.

“Jaime…” she reached out and touched his shoulder. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

He looked up at her now, his face haunted and tired. “Oh gods,” he grimaced. “How can you even talk to me, look at me, touch me after you’ve found out that I’m sleeping with my sister?”

He looked at the floor. “I know it’s not right. But we’ve been doing this since we were children. After our mother died and we were all either of us had left. Cersei…she’s all I’ve ever known.”

Brienne was struck newly by his revelation. “It sounded like you were trying to end things,” Brienne said, forcing herself to recall the conversation she’d briefly heard.

He twisted his hands. “I’ve been trying to end it.” He looked at her, his eyes terrible and wild. “My sister is not – not a good person. She’s unkind, and cruel.”

He rubbed his face with his hands. “Like today – I’m sorry she said those terrible things about you. And she’s always hated Tyrion, just because he had the audacity to be born and be different.”

“But despite all that, I love her and always go back to her. I would run away with her if I could, I would marry her if I could. But now everything is falling apart.”

“Because Cersei’s getting married….” Brienne breathed.

“She actually wants to. Lord Robert Baratheon is very rich, and powerful in government. And she wants _me_ to get married. It’s what our father wants as well. She thinks it will be easier for us to be together if both of us were married.” Jaime stared ahead, his hands falling to his knees. “There have been rumours, you know, about us. Quiet ones, but rumours all the same.”

Brienne felt compassion for Jaime’s acute distress, although she was extremely perturbed by his confession. Yet she was also moved that he trusted her enough with the truth. He looked so miserable that she moved closer to him and grabbed his hand and squeezed it. He looked at her in surprise.

“I can’t say I understand what you have with Cersei, Jaime, but I’m sorry you’re in pain,” she said gently. She started to remove her hand, but Jaime grabbed it and held on.

“You’re…you’re too good,” Jaime said, his face incredulous. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it fervently. “Thank you. Thank you for listening…and not being cruel.”

His mouth was hot and his kiss on her hand made her skin warm.

“We should go back,” Brienne said. Jaime nodded. They walked back quickly and parted to their separate chambers without speaking. She had forgotten all about the shadows, the fear that drove her out of her rooms. She was exhausted and crawled into bed, closing her eyes.

=====

The next morning, she came downstairs, wearing a dark green day dress that did nothing to hide her blanched complexion and the tired shadows under her eyes.

Jaime and Jon were already sat at the table, and both looked up as she entered the room.

“Good morning, Brienne,” Jon said, pouring her a cup of coffee.

“Good morning,” Jaime said tightly, yet somehow looking refreshed and rested after the late night they shared.

“Morning, gentlemen,” Brienne said, nodding to Jon and giving Jaime a reassuring smile. He seemed to relax his shoulders at her gaze.

“Rain,” Jon said, frowning as he looked out the window. Indeed, their last day at the Isle of Faces threatened to be an indoor one, as heavy drops lashed at the windows and gathered in little pools on the lawn.

The rest of the house rose late; Sansa appeared to be better, able to bear some weight on her foot and she was hobbling around without too much pain. A sombre mood pervaded the visitors, as they were confined to the house because of the incessant rain. Each of them entertained themselves in the afternoon, with Brienne mostly reading in the library alongside Jon. Brienne studiously avoided Cersei, not knowing if she could ever look at the woman in the face ever again, knowing what she now knew. Although she had pity for Jaime and his confessions, she found Cersei mean and unsettling and wanted to stay away from her as much as she could. As for Jaimie, she did not know how he occupied himself in the day, for she did not see him. But he returned before dinner from the outdoors, his whole body soaking from rain, much to the surprise of the group. She tried not to stare at how the wet clothes clung to his person, but admittedly she was not entirely successful. He smiled and excused himself while he changed.

The evening had them sitting in the drawing room around the fire. Cersei and Jaime sat together on the divan, though they did not seem as close as the night before. Brienne tried not to catalogue the instances she remembered of them touching, sitting together, or being close, but her mind could not help but wonder how she could have missed the clues, since they seemed obvious when she started looking back. Jaime often looked over at her with an expression she was unable to fathom. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and turned to Jon.

“Jon, as a doctor, you must have seen many interesting things,” Brienne said, smiling at the darkly handsome young man.

He nodded, looking at her brightly with deep grey eyes. “I have. For example, people tend to swallow the strangest things.” He chuckled, his whole face transforming in merriment. “Like coins, marbles, live animals…you name it.”

“Still, aspects of your profession must be tremendously difficult,” Brienne said softly.

Sansa, listening morbidly, asked, “What’s the most horrible thing you’ve ever witnessed, Jon?”

Jon shifted in his seat, his face turning serious. “Well, all deaths are bad, but I think the worst is when a woman dies in childbirth, or when a baby is stillborn. Sadly, it’s still quite common in this day and age.”

“My mother,” Jon turned to Rob and Sansa, “Your aunt Lyanna, died birthing me.” His face settled into a melancholy.

“My mother as well,” Brienne said softly.

“As did my mother birthing me,” Tyrion said sadly.

“With your monstrous proportions and giant head, of course you killed her,” Cersei suddenly hissed, glaring at her little brother. Brienne started and frowned at the woman.

“Cersei, stop.” Jaime said to his sister in a warning tone, his eyes narrowed. Cersei sneered but remained silent. An uncomfortable pall descended on the room.

“Jon,” Brienne said, desperate to change the subject. “I read in a periodical today that electricity could be used to make dead things move.”

Jon smiled, leaning toward her in interest. “Ah, galvanization! A Dornish doctor toured Westeros demonstrating how electrical current could reanimate the legs of a frog. He then published an article saying that animals had inside them an electricity that made them move. Of course, this has not been proven. It seems like a bit of a parlour trick to me.”

“So electricity cannot be potentially used to reanimate the dead?” Brienne asked, curious.

“The old stories say that the Red Priests and Priestesses of R’hllor could bring back the dead with their breath of fire. There are ancient stories of a Lord who had been brought back from the dead nineteen times,” Jaime said, joining in on the conversation.

“In the North,” Robb added, smiling, “There are tales of the Others who could bring back the dead with the power of ice and winter. They say the only way to kill these reanimated wights was with fire.”

“More ghost stories. Wonderful,” Cersei said, bored.

They spoke about their plans for leaving the following morning. Brienne played some practice runs and simple melodies on the pianoforte. One by one, people began to retire. Cersei gave Jaime a significant look as she left, but he simply ignored her and remained in the room, listening to Brienne play. Soon enough, they were the only two people left.

Jaime came and sat near her, as he did the evening before, looking at the flight of her fingers along the black and white keys. When she was playing, her hands almost looked graceful and feminine, she thought, as she concluded the last few notes of a sonata. As she finished, Jaime had the same transported expression as he had the night before. She tried hard not to stare as he opened his eyes and came back to himself.

He turned his seat so he was facing her. He looked at her hands still on the pianoforte and grabbed her left hand in his.

“Brienne,” Jaime said, looking at her earnestly. “I want to thank you. For last night.”

She began to shake her head, dismissing his words, when he spoke again. “Really. Thank you for not hating me, or judging me.” His eyes were shining. “I’ve never told anyone that. I mean – Tyrion knows, he guessed, but I’ve never talked about it.” He squeezed her hand. “After I told you I felt like an immense weight had been lifted from my chest and mind.”

Brienne was conscious of the warm press of his hands, the overwhelming nearness of him. She knew she was inexplicably attracted to Jaime, and was strongly drawn to him, but she was almost glad that he had declared his heart for another, perverted as that choice may be. He was simply not available, not a real temptation; it made her feel that she could admire him without consequences. That she could be friends with him.

“I’m glad,” Brienne said warmly. She leaned forward a little and lowered her voice. “I vow not to say a word to another soul, Jaime.” He also leaned forward to catch her words and she noticed that their faces were close. Too close. She could feel the heat from his skin. She quickly pulled back, as if stung.

He smiled at her, amused. He nodded his thanks again and released her hand. He bowed. “Good night, Brienne,” he said, slowly leaving the room.

She sat at the pianoforte for a little more, idly playing soft little tunes that she remembered from her childhood, and she found herself remembering the melody to a song that her father used to sing to her while she was tucked in bed.

When she went to her room, the air was chilled, the fire dying in the hearth. She was relaxed and lulled by the song she played, and remembering her mother, she quickly fell asleep.

Her eyes opened; she thought she was dreaming, but everything felt incredibly real. She saw before her a young man, pale and unwell, stand over a body lying on a stretcher, looking intently at it. The figure on the stretcher looked like a cross between man and monster, huge in stature, misshapen and she somehow knew the creature was stitched from pieces of the corpses of the dead. Wires hung from his body, and there was a great clap of thunder and a huge flash of lightning, and to her horror, the monster started to move his fingers. He opened his yellow eyes.

Brienne opened her mouth to scream, but no sound emerged from her throat. She bolted upright, panting, sweating. A dream. But it felt real. She could still see the monster, the mad light in the strange young man’s eyes. She shivered. Just a dream. Just a dream. She forced herself to lay back and breathe, fighting the impulse to run away from her room again. Gods, she was ridiculous, _a child_ – it was just a very realistic dream, she reasoned with herself. She closed her eyes and willed her thoughts away.

=====

She woke up later than she wanted, and rushed to wash and dress; luckily she had brought little with her, so her packing was simple enough. Her sleep was undisturbed after that terrifying dream or vision; yet she could still picture it in her mind, as clear as the bed in front of her. She thought of the weekend: the weirwood forest, the ghost stories, the talk last night about resurrected bodies – no wonder her mind conjured up the dream. Suddenly she thought about the young man who made that dead man alive again: a student. A medical student? A doctor? A man who wanted to create life, a man who wanted to be God. As she went on with her morning, carrying her bags downstairs, eating breakfast with the group, the story of the scientist and creature began to form in her mind. She thought there was a spark there, something fundamentally compelling about the story. She felt a strong urge to write it down.

She rode in the carriage with Cersei and Jaime, despite her disinclination to do so; she did not want to examine how the brother and sister interacted with each other, and she certainly did not want the severe and spiteful green eyes of Cersei to stare at her the whole way. Luckily, Jon Snow sat beside her, and was a genial distraction from having to look at the siblings. She found that she enjoyed Jon’s quiet company, as his serious façade belied a dry sense of humour. She focused on speaking to him most of the journey, though she could not avoid Jaime’s frequent stares at her.

When they arrived home, the three of them washed, ate and prepared for bed. Sansa’s ankle was improved, as she was able to walk slowly up the stairs to her room without issue. Robb and Sansa retired to bed early, but Brienne was bursting with a rare energy, as the fuel of inspiration ran through her. She _would_ write that ghost story, she thought. She sat down at her desk, lit a few candles, and started scribbling feverishly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Sorry. I have a feeling that all the end notes from this story are going to be very long.]
> 
> STORY NOTES:
> 
> \- The real histories of Mary Shelley, Percy Shelley, and Claire Claremont are completely fascinating. I encourage people to look up their stories. For example, this recent New Yorker article is great: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2018/02/12/the-strange-and-twisted-life-of-frankenstein
> 
> \- Byron is another fascinating character. Aristocratic, involved in theatre and politics, he was the heartthrob of this era. He broke the hearts of BOTH men and women. And he allegedly had an affair with his half-sister, which of course made me think of Jaime Lannister.
> 
> \- The second night terror that Brienne has is very close to the one Mary Shelley described as the origin of her famous novel. And of course, the idea of a contest and a night of ghost stories is included in this chapter. Incredibly, Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein when she was just eighteen years old. Mind-blowing.
> 
> \- This Sandor is the book version, in his twenties (though I love show version as well)
> 
> \- The poem Jaime recites is one of Byron’s most famous poems, “She Walks In Beauty.” I omitted the middle stanza for the sake of brevity, and because it mentions ‘raven tresses’ lol. 
> 
> \- The ghost stories here are from book canon, told by Old Nan, but I might have embellished them a bit.
> 
> \- Galvanism was theorized by the Italian scientist Luigi Galvani in the 18th century; he was the one who demonstrated the power of electrical current on the muscles of frog legs
> 
> \- Personal note: my favourite Romantic poet is John Keats, who, alas, is not in this story. However, Brienne’s house is inspired by Wentworth Place, where Keats lived (it is now a lovely museum, please visit). It is very near Hampstead Heath. 
> 
> AUTHOR NOTES
> 
> Thanks for hanging on till the end of this chapter! I know it was long! Please send me any comments, thoughts you may have in the comments. I adore reading comments, short or small.
> 
> Please Kudos if you like!


	3. PART THREE: A Convenient Arrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in King's Landing, Brienne struggles and Jaime believes he's found a solution to many problems.  
> [WARNING: Explicit sexual content]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Ro_Nordmann for the stunning cover image!
> 
> Thank you so very much for such amazing comments on the last chapter. I enjoyed reading each and every one of them. Part two was definitely the gothic part of this story, directly inspired by alleged historical events.
> 
> In Part Three, we return to the romantic plot and the relationship between Jaime and Brienne. And well, if you thought the last chapter was long, this one clocks in at 12K words. So take your time reading, lol. (Apologies if there are typos, I try to catch them, but I think some still slip through.)
> 
> I also wanted to mention that there is mention of canon relationship abuse, because it deals with the Cersei stuff.
> 
> This chapter contains more of Byron's poetry (see end notes).
> 
> -

_(Cover Art by Ro_Nordmann)_

=====

Brienne had thought she was merely writing a little ghost story, a modest tale to tell in a dark hour, but words, like the rain that plagued that particular violent and stormy night, accumulated without her bidding, and the pages grew and grew almost like a sickness. After several days of writing, she realized what she was writing was a novel; an unusual one to be sure, filled with men and their ambition, chronicling the failure of birth and creation. Detailing the perversions of men and their black impulses. Hardly the subjects fitting female novelists, the few of whom that exist choosing to write witty romances that were more socially acceptable. Her story had muscle and sinew and blood, its structure was complex, as tales were embedded within other stories, like a precarious puzzle that opened to reveal yet another puzzle. She had never felt so alive as when she was writing the book; her blood thrummed with energy, and it felt almost like lust.

However, as much as she wanted to spend every moment of her life writing her novel, she was faced with increasingly heavy responsibilities. As the weeks passed, she wrote reviews, went to theatre productions, and tried her best to introduce Sansa to some of her more connected friends, like Margaery Tyrell. Luckily, Margaery was the perfect person to look after the girl, and she immediately took Sansa under her wing, taking her to parties and introducing her to proper society. At this, Brienne was immensely relieved, as it had been bothering her that the young woman had been here for almost three moons and the only society she met was the Lannister family.

Of the Lannisters, she had little contact after the weekend at the Isle of Faces. There had been little notes, here and there between her and Jaime, and vague suggestions of a visit, but nothing came out of those brief spurts of communication. Soon enough, she read in the papers that Cersei had gotten married. She wondered if Jaime despaired. Despite herself, she missed him and his handsome eyes.

Social calls were a luxury that she could ill afford, in part because she was wholly occupied with earning money and writing her book. To make the situation even more dire, creditors had finally made their move, demanding full repayment for their loans within a moon’s time. This was impossible, even if she sold a thousand stories. She fumed, angry at the father for putting her in this situation. She had no choice but to contact the family lawyer to start the process of selling the house.

When she was alone, she wept. Somehow she felt she failed; she would be present to witness – nay, to facilitate – the death of her childhood, her father’s ambitions, and his legacy. She touched her father’s beloved books, the printing press that he had treasured and slaved hours of labour over. She recalled, with poignancy, his ink-stained fingers when he kissed her goodnight when she was a child. This house was the only home she had ever known. It was also difficult to inform Robb and Sansa of the imminent disaster of their future homelessness, but they accepted and understood the situation with grace and understanding. She knew that Robb was already looking for rooms to let for himself, and Sansa was planning a premature return to Winterfell.

She decided to tackle the most difficult job first: sorting the books and determining which to keep and which to sell. She was in the middle of this task, the floor covered in piles of books, when there was a knock on her door. She frowned, wondering who was calling, as no one had visited in weeks. Opening her door, she was surprised to find in front of her the brooding golden figure of Jaime Lannister, dressed in a blue overcoat, his long hair falling casually over his forehead. He bowed to her and smiled almost tenderly.

“My apologies, Brienne. I should have written. It’s just – may I please speak with you about an important matter?” He looked at her beseechingly. He ran his fingers nervously through his hair.

She nodded and stepped aside to allow him to enter. She took his cloak and hat, and hung them in the closet.

“Please, I apologize for the disorganization. Everything is a little chaotic right now,” she said, gesturing vaguely to the piles of books on the floor. She led him to the drawing room, and invited him to sit. Jaime looked around, seemingly a little unsure. He fidgeted with his patterned silk cravat. He eventually sat down, declining all offers of refreshment.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your work, Brienne,” said Jaime, apologizing again. He looked at her anxiously.

She sighed, sitting down in an armchair opposite him. “I’m sure you’ve heard. I’ve had to sell this house. The debts my father left are insurmountable.”

Jaime nodded, frowning slightly. “Yes, I was aware. It will be a great loss, to have Selwyn Tarth’s books and things be separated, scattered in the wind. And your family home, no less.”

She looked at her hands. “Yes. I feel awful, but I just can’t manage on my own, and father has advised me to sell. He has left everything for me to do.”

She paused, looking at Jaime and suddenly remembering herself. “I apologize, Jaime. You came here for an important reason and all I’ve been doing is telling you my troubles and monopolizing your precious time.”

He cleared his throat and sat up straighter, his face set in determination. “Brienne, as it happens, my purpose in coming here is related to the unfortunate predicament that you find yourself in.”

Brienne raised her eyebrows in inquiry.

Jaime shifted and steeled himself. With difficulty, he looked directly into her eyes. “The truth of the matter is, I greatly admire you. You are the kindest person I’ve ever known, and your friendship in the past months has been tremendous for me. I never thought someone as good as you would ever be in my life.”

She blushed at the kind words, but also felt an apprehension in her spine.

He let out a loud exhale. “The point is, I wish to marry, and my family wishes me to marry, and I mean to marry you.” He paused. “Will you have me, Brienne?”

She felt herself grow pale. She was sure her face was frozen in disbelief. Jaime’s face was earnest and full of anticipation, his cheeks slashed with pink.

“I – I don’t understand, Jaime,” Brienne stammered. “Why would you want to marry _me_?”

“You’re probably the best friend I have, aside from Tyrion.” He paused. “I like spending time with you. I like looking at you. I just _like_ you a great deal. We can make a good partnership, you and I.”

She was silent, her head was all confusion and disbelief.

He continued, “And by marrying me, you can save this house and your father’s legacy. You’ll have the protection of the Lannister family. And as a husband, I won’t force you to do things you don’t want to do. You can continue writing or pursuing your ambitions. You’ll still have your freedom.”

“But why… _why_ do you want to marry, Jaime?” Brienne managed to ask. “What about Cersei?”

Jaime winced. “It’s she and my father who are insistent on my matrimony. You see, to come into my inheritance, I must marry. It’s something I’ve been putting off for years because of Cersei, but now that she herself has married, I feel, perhaps, the time is right.”

“But why should I marry you if you don’t love me, Jaime?” Brienne asked, truly curious.

“Because…you’re the only one who knows about Cersei and me. Because I trust you with my secrets and my soul.” Jaime furrowed his brow. “You know that I’ll only love Cersei. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. In fact, you’re the only person I’ve met that I’ve ever _wanted_ to marry, Brienne.”

He continued, “If I were to propose this to any other woman, she’d be insulted. Marrying a man who cannot give her his heart? Never. But given your parents’ philosophies on matrimony, it is my guess that you would be the only person who’d appreciate the situation and approach the offer in a calm, rational manner.”

“My parents…yes, they believe marriage is an economic proposition; how if entered blindly in love, it can lead to the enslavement of the soul…yes, I am familiar with those arguments.” She was shaken at having the words and thoughts of her parents hoisted upon her. Apparently, Jaime was taking quite a logical view of this.

“That’s right,” Jaime said eagerly.

Brienne hesitated, but she needed to know. “Are you saying we would not need to…touch?”

Jaime grimaced and looked at her pleadingly. “It’s your choice. We don’t have to,” Jaime said softly. “I’ve – I’ve never been with anyone besides Cersei, despite my womanizing reputation. We’d have to live together, share a bed. I would be true to you, outside Cersei, Brienne,” he flinched. “I know that’s unfair, but you must understand that I will not give her up. She is too embedded in the intricacies of my heart.”

A sense of dread suffused her whole being.

“And if – if I _wanted_ children?” Brienne asked, pushing the subject to its utmost limit.

He hesitated, and looked at her. “Then I will give you children, if that’s what you want.” He moved to kneel beside her, reaching out to hold her hands in his. “I am very drawn to you, Brienne. I feel a mysterious pull toward you that I can’t explain,” he said, rubbing her hands with his thumb, sending warmth up her arms. “There have been times in the past, and especially over that weekend away, where I wanted so much to kiss you. If you permit me, I would touch you and make you feel good.” She stared into his face, still incredulous.

“You could… _want_ me?” Brienne asked in a small voice.

“Gods, I want you already, Brienne!” Jaime burst out. He leaned close to her face, and kissed both her cheeks. Brienne closed her eyes at the sensation. Then she felt his lips on hers, warm and soft. She felt something within her melt. She opened her eyes and she thought she saw her desire echo in his eyes.

“Marry me, Brienne. I promise to do my utmost to make you happy.” Jaime smiled at her, his face sincere and open, shining like a beacon.

She knew he didn’t love her, that he would always love his sister. She knew that he would choose Cersei’s bed instead of hers. But she could save the house and her father’s legacy. She would be able to write her novel and make a name of her own as an author, and wouldn’t have to struggle to make enough money to eat and live. She would be putting parent’s philosophy on marriage to work, in choosing practicality over love. There were many reasons to say yes. But there was a knot inside her still, a warning sign in her heart, because she knew, despite the machinations of her rational mind, that she was already half in love with Jaime. To marry him, she would need to accept potential heartbreak every time he chose Cersei over her. Another side of her, the pathetic side of her, told herself to marry him, because at least she’d be in his constant presence; surely it was enough to be near him, to talk to him, to touch him affectionately?

It was not her rational side that won out, not the side that wanted to save the house, but the side that was a pathetic romantic fool. She looked at the hopeful, tender face that she knew would surely break her heart.

“Yes, Jaime.” She looked at him calmly, “I will marry you.”

=====

And so they were wed, quickly and without much fanfare. As soon as she agreed to the proposal, things seemed to move beyond her control, like a large storm in which she was helplessly caught in. However, she insisted on terms and involved her father’s lawyer, Mr. Goodwin, as she did not want to end up abandoned and destitute as soon as he tired of his charade. Should they decide to end the marriage, she would retain the house, rights to any income she made, and a moderate allowance. Jaime readily agreed to the terms.

She met Jaime’s father, the powerful politician Lord Tywin Lannister, who was distantly kind and rigid; although he wasn’t thrilled that his firstborn son was marrying _her_ (he certainly could not entirely avoid staring at her ugliness and appalling size upon first making her acquaintance), he seemed glad, at least, that his firstborn son was finally _marrying_. Cersei’s reaction was one of disdain, barely saying a word to Brienne, but this seemed preferable to the targeted malice that the woman was capable of. Tyrion received the news with jubilance, as he genuinely liked Brienne, and expressed his pleasure at gaining her as a goodsister; she could not help but notice, however, his looks of mild concern directed at her when he was sure she wasn’t looking his way.

Robb was happy for her, but was convinced that she was only marrying Jaime to save the house; Sansa, of course, was giddy with joy, convinced that Jaime was a prince marrying his princess. There was no time for her father to come to the wedding, but he expressed his usual implicit trust in her decisions and supported her from a distance. He was, of course, particularly thrilled that the house, his books and his works would be saved by Lannister money.

They said their vows in a small sept, surrounded by the Lannisters and the two Starks. Tywin had wanted a grander affair and a longer engagement, but Brienne balked at the attention and Jaime wanted to get married as soon as possible.

Together, they promised to cherish, love, protect, and take care of one another for the rest of their lives; in Brienne’s case, she meant every word of her vow as she looked at the impossibly handsome golden man in front of her. Quite simply, there was no man she had ever wanted as much as she did Jaime. In his case, while he looked at her with sincere adoration as he said the vows, she knew that a part of this for him was false, for it was his sister whom he wished were there instead of her bovine, lumbering form. It was his sister who would come above all others, including above his wife to whom he swore vows under the gods and laws of men. Their kiss to seal the marriage was a soft, tender one that left her heart aching and ominously warned her of things to come. The feast after the ceremony was a lavish but intimate affair. Jaime had stayed by her side the entire time and barely looked at Cersei, for which she was pathetically thankful.

Their carriage took them to what was to be their new home as a married couple, a grand, two-storey townhouse within easy walking distance to her father’s house. It had big, airy rooms, large windows, and elegant, but comfortable furniture; it was one of many Lannister estates in Westeros. It had been decided that Robb and Sansa would stay on in the Tarth family home, leaving Brienne free to drop in frequently to care for the library or to borrow books.

When they arrived at the townhome, they were greeted by a small, pretty woman with crooked teeth called Pia, and a responsible, dark-haired man called Peck; they were a married couple and came in to take care of the place during the weekdays. Brienne was grateful that they did not have live-in help, since she was accustomed to doing most things herself. After showing them around, the couple was quickly dismissed home.

“So, Brienne. Are your impressions of this place favourable?” Jaime asked, sitting on a settee in the drawing room.

Brienne looked around and sank into an overstuffed armchair with a sigh. She smiled. “Yes, it’s rather lovely. I didn’t expect to ever live in such an elegant home.”

Jaime shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable. “And today, the ceremony, the feast – they weren’t too painful, I hope?”

She shook her head. “No, not at all, Jaime.” She looked at him curiously. “Though I thank you for your concern.” She paused, looking down at her hands. “But I gather it must have been difficult for you to marry me when you’d rather marry another.”

He started at her words and widened his eyes. “No, Brienne. I didn’t think of her when I was saying my vows to you. Truly.” He stood up and took her hand. “I will try to be a good husband to you. I promise.”

She squeezed his hand. Looking up at her with eyes full of emotion, he hardly resembled the arrogant playwright that she had first encountered all those many months ago. Her heart ached for him. But she did not know exactly how their marriage was going to work.

She stood up and leaned against the mantle of the fireplace, looking into its low-burning flames.

“Jaime, your sister can call here, but you must not bring her to our home if you want to… _be alone_ with her. I don’t think I can stand it-”

“Oh, Brienne. I was never planning to do that. I – I would not disrespect you that way.” For a moment he looked ashamed. “We’ll be discreet, I promise.”

She nodded. She turned to him. “And I don’t think I can spend time with her. I understand yes, for family functions, but I won’t be alone with her, or just with the two of you.” She shook her head as images flooded in her mind of the two of them in all their beauty, in each other’s arms, secretly mocking her.

He came toward her and took her in his arms. She was startled, standing still and stiff for a moment, but he persisted and she felt a steadiness from the strength of his arms. Tentatively, she placed her arms around him. She could feel how perfectly matched they were physically, head to head, chest against chest, hip to hip. He was warm and she felt her own blood rush through her, hot and exhilarated.

“I’m sorry, Brienne. I don’t want to put you through this,” he murmured into her neck, his warm breath tickling her. He let her go, his eyes searching her face. She stepped back, blushing.

She was tired and confused. “We ought to go to bed, Jaime.”

“Yes. Come, my bride,” he said, taking her hand and leading her into the bedroom.

The bedroom was large, spacious, and comfortable. An immense four poster bed dominated the room, and in the corner was a dressing table; the room had wardrobes and dressers, and even a small table and a chair. All their things had been moved prior to their arrival and she found her clothes and belongings without any problem.

She looked at Jaime, feeling nervous and awkward at the possibly of what lay ahead. She was his bride, but not in the truest sense. _Never in the truest sense_. She wondered if she would remain a maiden forever.

Jaime had started to undress, his movements natural and matter-of-fact; he unwound his cravat, slipped off his fine jacket, and started to unbutton his shirt, all the while stealing glances at her. She probably should have turned away, or started undressing herself, but she was transfixed by the sight before her, as he took off his shirt to reveal golden skin, a broad chest, firm arm and stomach muscles. The sight of him made her skin warm; he looked like a god. He smirked at her.

“Do you require assistance with undoing your dress, my lady?” Jaime said in a velvety voice.

She nodded mutely, for she did, as the hooks of her white dress were at the back. He stood behind her and started to expertly unhook her wedding gown, his fingers lightly brushing the skin of her back. She shivered.

“There,” he said, and started to slip off the dress from her shoulders, allowing it to slowly pool to the floor with a swish. He unhooked her petticoats and let them too, fall to the floor.

“And the stays?” Jaime murmured. She nodded. His hands were deft, quickly untying laces; theoretically, loosening her stays should have allowed her to better breathe, but his nearness made her breaths increasingly shallow. She took off the garment, leaving her in her thin shift. She turned around.

“Thank you,” she said. He nodded, eyeing the wide expanse of skin and the contours of her chest under the thin white fabric. She realized with mortification that her nipples were hard and visible. He stared at her. His hands moved toward her as if he were in a trance, and slowly traced along her thick, long neck, across her shoulders, and down to the tops of her chest, along the stretch of skin that wasn’t covered by the shift. Her skin seemed to ignite from his touch, and she could feel her heart start to pound.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked softly, staring at her mouth as if transfixed. She wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to do, or if this was something he would later regret, but she wanted him to kiss her and touch her everywhere. She leaned closer to him, and touched her lips softly to his; he immediately responded, pressing his mouth harder against her, wrapping his arms around her. She felt like she would swoon, his lips were so hot, his tongue swiping her bottom lip, causing her mouth to open, allowing his tongue to explore and taste her. She tentatively mimicked his movements, shyly darting her tongue against his. He groaned and pulled her even closer. Her hands moved across his muscular back, feeling the smoothness of his skin. He firmly pressed his hips against hers, and she gasped, feeling his arousal hard against her core.

He reached down and helped her pull off her shift, revealing her in all her nakedness. Before she even had time to be ashamed or self-conscious of her body, Jaime’s lips were kissing her chest and his hands were running up and down her body, cupping her breasts and squeezing her buttocks. She moaned; her body felt like it was on fire; she could barely think. They moved to the bed. She dared herself to touch him, tracing his chest, caressing his stomach, gently pressing the hard bulge in his trousers. He groaned deliciously. Her hands unbuttoned his trousers, and he tugged them off, revealing his large, stiff member that stood out in front of him. Jaime’s eyes were dark, without a hint of green, and all she saw in them was lust. He wanted her. As she wanted him.

His lips were sucking on her breasts, tongue flicking her nipples and she felt a jolt of electricity run through her as she involuntarily arched her back. His hands moved lower, caressing her leg and thigh, and soon they touched her mound and she gasped, and gasped some more as his fingers gently explored her wet folds.

“Jaime,” she cried, at a loss for words. She felt she was dripping as he continued to touch her, and when he touched her sensitive nub, she cried out. She felt him insert a finger inside her, and she moaned at the feeling. He kissed her then, and studied her face as a second finger was added to the first, all the while his thumb was circling her bud. She writhed helplessly as he moved his fingers, and gods, his eyes were _studying_ her, and soon enough, she crested, crying out, lost in pleasure, as she clenched and shuddered against his fingers.

He lay down beside her and kissed her, looking at her tenderly as she recovered her breath. She turned to him now, wanting to feel him, and she tentatively stroked his cock, reveling in the softness of his skin but the incredible hardness of his member. Jaime moaned into her neck and moved on top of her. Brienne’s legs naturally fell open, cradling his hips, giving them a home. He ground his cock against her wet centre and they both groaned.

“Brienne, can I?” he asked softly but with desperation.

“Yes, Jaime. Yes,” she breathed, and he slowly eased into her, pausing intermittently for her to adjust to his size, and moved steadily until he was completely inside her. She held her breath, feeling how completely he filled and stretched her. She moved her hips toward him and hooked her legs around his hips, causing him to groan and move even deeper in her. He kissed her then, and started to move, plunging in and out of her, at first slowly, then as her hips met his, faster and with more force, until he was thrusting hard into her, and she was bucking up to him, and he used his fingers on her nub again, and she felt herself rise and rise, and finally burst with pleasure, and she was yelling out his name and gripping his shoulders. He then pumped wildly into her, all rhythm lost, until he growled, suddenly pulling out of her and with a loud cry, spilled onto her belly, his whole body shuddering as he gasped her name. He collapsed on top of her, panting against her neck. Brienne was suffused with a sense of well-being and wonder, feeling as if a whole other world had opened up to her. She gave Jamie’s shoulder a squeeze. He groaned as he slowly rolled off her.

She reached over to the bedside table, took a handkerchief and wiped his slick white seed off her stomach, examining it curiously. She glanced over at Jaime, who was looking at her with an amused expression on his face. She smiled at him shyly.

“I believe our marriage has been well consummated,” Jaime said playfully, smiling and relaxed. He pulled her by the waist toward him, and gave her a soft kiss. She settled in beside him, her head on his shoulder and his arms around her.

“Good night wife,” Jaime whispered into her hair.

“Good night, husband,” Brienne replied, feeling for the first time a completeness around her heart.

=====

The next morning, she awoke warm, her body relaxed. It took her a few seconds to remember the night’s events and how naturally everything had progressed; she just _felt_ and _did_ , without room for the admonishments and cruel words of her stepmother Roelle about her own lack of desirability. Jaime had clearly wanted her last night, and even made her feel loved in a way she’d never experienced before. That was certainly something.

Jaime was still sleeping, facing her in bed, his face smooth and calm and utterly beautiful. She could not understand how it came about this man was her _husband_. His arm was around her still and she felt a surge of affection for him. He was beautiful and kind, and all hers for just this moment. He stirred and opened his eyes. His soft green eyes took her in for a few moments, and he gave her a smile that spread slowly on this face like a sunrise.

“You know, your eyes are really extraordinary, Brienne. Like the sky after the wind has blown away the clouds,” he said softly, pulling her in for a soft kiss. Brienne blushed. “And your blushes are very delightful,” he teased, kissing her cheeks. “I would eat my fill of you every day.”

“Jaime,” she said, indulgently. She felt incredibly well-rested. She moved to get up from the bed and pushed the covers down.

“Oh,” she said, gazing at the spots of blood on the white sheets. Jaime leaned over and touched the blood.

“Did I hurt you last night?” Jaime kissed her neck.

She turned toward him and kissed him. “No. On the contrary…I’d never felt so good in all my life,” she said, blushing hotly.

“I’m that good? Hmmm.” Jaime said, smiling. She put her arms around his neck and hugged him.

“We should have breakfast, husband,” she said, getting up from the bed and putting on her dressing gown.

“We should, wife. I’m famished.” Jaime jauntily replied.

They had a pleasant and playful meal, with Pia and Peck practically beaming at them. Jaime complained about his publisher and their constant demands for him to produce another book, groused about the theatre asking him to write and produce more dastardly plays, which, in all fairness, very much lined the pockets of both parties exceedingly. He made her laugh with this gentle teasing, and everything between them was comfortable and enjoyable.

After a very late and leisurely breakfast, they prepared to go to a nearby park in order to enjoy the early summer sunshine. Just before they were about to leave, however, a messenger came to the door, bearing an envelope addressed to Jaime. He frowned, recognizing the handwriting. Brienne watched him carefully as he opened the letter and read its contents. She noticed that his whole face seemed to change, going from irritated to eager, almost happy. He folded the note and placed it in his pocket, and turned to her with an apologetic glance.

“I’m sorry, Brienne. But I must go,” He looked slightly ashamed.

“Cersei needs you,” she guessed.

He nodded, his mouth tight. “When I come back, we’ll go out for dinner. All right?” He leaned in to kiss her.

She nodded. “I’m probably going to explore a bit and maybe visit my father’s house.”

“I’m sorry, Brienne.” He gave her a last apologetic look and hurried out the door. She watched him get into the carriage and drive off. She supposed this was how it was going to be.

The day looked promising, bright and warm; a fine day for a walk. On the sideboard, she noticed new calling cards that someone had printed and left for her. She grinned, seeing the name “Brienne Lannister” and her new address on the thick linen paper; she placed a few cards in her cardholder and slipped them in her blue reticule. Then, she walked slowly around town. She explored her new neighbourhood, looked into dress shops, dry goods stores, stationers. She paused when she came upon a chemist shop, biting her lip, considering. She went in and bought a large package of moon tea, wrapped in brown paper; the chemist gave her precise brewing instructions and measuring tools for the job. Brienne wasn’t sure if it would be necessary, but given the events of last night, she figured it would be prudent to be prepared.

She walked to her old home, which was an easy half hour distance across the heath. She was glad for this still untouched land, which, at this time of year, was bursting with colourful wildflowers and green grasses. The heath always separated her from the chaos and hectic activity of King’s Landing. It always felt as if she had lived somewhat removed from the city, in her own little remote corner of wilderness.

When she reached the door of her old home, she hesitated. Should she knock, or just unlock the door and go in? She knocked. It was swiftly opened by Robb, who looked surprised but pleased to see her.

“Brienne! Come in!” Robb moved aside to let her through. “For God’s sake, you don’t have to knock, just come in, you own the place.”

“Duly noted,” Brienne said, laughing. They hugged briefly, smiling at one another.

“I did not expect to see you here the day after your wedding. I had expected Jaime would prevent you from leaving your chambers,” he said cheekily, making her blush a merry red.

“Oh, Jaime had…affairs to see to,” Brienne said mildly. She looked around. “Is Sansa with Margaery?”

Robb nodded. “Yes. With her and the whole Tyrell clan. I don’t know how she can stand being around them so much, especially with that old bat Lady Olenna. I would go mad with all their incessant talk.”

Brienne laughed, sinking into an armchair. She heard footsteps and was pleasantly surprised to encounter Jon Snow, who was carefully balancing two cups of tea in his hands.

“Brienne!” Jon said, carefully handing her a cup. Robb declined the other cup, and Jon sat down.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” he continued, smiling at her warmly. She nodded.

“I came by to visit, and look at some of your father’s books, if that’s all right.” Jon said.

Brienne eagerly nodded. “Do you live nearby, Jon?”

Jon and Robb exchanged glances. “I had been living in the hospital dorms, but the time has come for me to move to new lodgings, so I’m currently on the lookout,” he explained.

She looked at him steadily. “You could stay here,” Brienne said casually, looking at Robb. “As long as Robb or Sansa don’t mind. And if you don’t mind me coming here at odd times every once in a while.”

Robb grinned, “I don’t mind. It will be like the old Winterfell days, Jon.”

Jon looked uncertain. “Are you sure? Of course I’ll pay rent.”

She dismissed his concerns with a wave of her hand. “No need. Just help take care of the house and the books. You can stay in my old room, Jon. It’s rather desolate and empty now.”

She suddenly remembered and reached into her reticule and pulled out a couple of calling cards. “This is my new address. I expect you to call on me. Please.”

She walked home in a happy mood, arriving back a little before supper time. She was surprised to see the house empty; Peck and Pia had left them dinner, but they had already gone home. She figured she would wait for Jaime for a little while, in case he was on his way back. There was a downstairs study that she guessed Jaime would use for writing, but she saw that upstairs there was a small room next to their bedroom that had a single window and was furnished with a small bookshelf and a large desk and chair. This, she thought, would serve as her work room. She unpacked the books she brought, and organized her papers. She lovingly placed her novel-in-progress in a desk drawer, and carefully arranged her inks and pens.

She found where they had stored the paintings that she had brought from the house and hung a few in her study and a couple more in their bedroom. By the time she was finished putting her personal touches on the house, the sun had set, and she went to the kitchen and ate some food at the kitchen table, not even bothering to move to the dining room. She also brewed some moon tea and drank it, surprised at its muddy and minty taste.

She spent the rest of the evening and into the night writing her novel by candle light, and was surprised to find that it was past eleven o’clock when she stopped; Jaime had yet to return. She wondered, vaguely, if anything had happened to him, and if he would return at all that night. She heated some water in the hearth and scrubbed herself with soap at the washstand in the corner of the bedroom, changed into her nightgown, and slipped into bed.

In the middle of the night, she heard a loud thump on the landing, and heavy footsteps. She sat up in bed, lighting her candle. For a moment she thought she might have been back at the Isle of Faces, in the midst of those two horrific nights. But she heard a familiar indistinguishable voice, mumbling, as the person fumbled with the door knob and barged into the room.

“Jaime,” Brienne said, getting up and putting some wood on the hearth, brightening the room as the fire caught.

“Wife,” he drawled, looking at her with unfocused eyes. He stumbled as she walked toward him, and she caught him as he almost fell. He was drunk, his breath smelling of hard liquor. He also smelled strongly of a woman’s perfume, a cloying, spicy smell that was in his hair and clothes. She recognized that distinctive perfume: Cersei.

“You’re drunk,” she said peevishly, roughly pushing him onto the bed.

“My, you’re a strong one,” Jaime said, squinting and smiling at her. “And so very big. Quite a handful.” He closed his eyes, his head wobbling.

“I’m very tired, Brienne,” he whined.

“Good, then you can go to sleep,” she said firmly. He was like a helpless babe, just sitting there on the bed. She sighed, and proceed to take off his shoes and stockings, his jacket. He watched her mutely with fascination. She hesitated, and proceeded to take off his trousers.

“Wife, you are too good to me,” he mumbled, staring at her.

“Jaime, stand up for a second,” he did as he was told, standing up with difficulty but holding on to her when he wavered. She pulled down his trousers and pushed him back down on the bed. She knelt on the bed and removed his trousers from his legs. Jaime looked at her intently as she was kneeling. He was left in his shirt that was thankfully long enough to cover his manhood. She took an empty basin and left it by his bedside table and wet a cloth with some warm water.

“If you need to get sick, here’s a basin. And here, wipe your face,” she said, offering him the cloth. He didn’t move, however, and just stared at her dolefully. She sighed and stood in front of him as she wiped his face and neck. He closed his eyes.

“That feels good,” he moaned. Suddenly his arms went around her, embracing her, and he pressed his head to her chest.

“Brienne. You’re a saint,” he said, planting kisses on her torso and nuzzling her meagre breasts. She felt his cock stir against her legs. She felt a warm flush run through her; she was not so immune to Jaime, even when he was disgustingly drunk, it seemed.

“Wife, Brienne. I want you,” he murmured to her breasts, “But I can’t fuck you anymore. Cersei would be upset,” he said pathetically, his voice small. She pulled herself away from him, angry.

“That won’t be a problem,” she said with a lethal finality. She pulled out the covers and pushed him into bed, covering him up with a blanket.

“Don’t be angry,” said Jaime, his eyes imploring. “If it weren’t for Cersei, I think I could love you, Brienne. I really could.”

She exhaled loudly. “Never mind that. Just go to sleep, Jaime.”

“Kiss me goodnight?”

“Fine,” she said, giving him the briefest of pecks. He closed his eyes and immediately fell asleep.

It took Brienne a great deal longer to fall asleep, because it felt like a dark chasm had opened near her feet and she was on the precipice of falling. She felt hot tears roll down her cheeks. She was angry at Jaime; angry at herself for being so foolish. _Of course_ , this would not be a real marriage, she knew that from the start. But after last night, she had stupidly allowed herself to hope. Last night, Jaime had shown her a new world had existed, but she felt that just after a brief glimpse, she was exiled from that wondrous world. She closed her eyes. Eventually, she dozed off and fell into a restive slumber.

The next morning, she left Jaime to sleep off his hangover, and dressed for the day, going downstairs for a solitary breakfast. She asked Peck if he and Pia could prepare a half-filled bath for her before they left that evening. She had a need to scrub herself clean.

She went out. She walked to her house and visited a bit with Robb and Sansa, and later encountered Jon moving in his meagre things. She organized some of the books, ate lunch with the Starks and Jon, and walked back in a cheerful mood, stopping by a flower stall to buy herself a bouquet of purple tulips. It was early afternoon when she returned, to find Jaime in the sitting room waiting for her.

He looked terrible: tired, drawn, with dark shadows under his eyes. Despite all this, he was still handsome and seeing him made her heart beat faster.

“Jaime, you’re up,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

He scowled. “I’m fine. Where have you been? Neither Peck or Pia knew where you had gone.”

She gave him an irritated glance.

“Do you have the right to ask me that after yesterday? Really, Jaime.” She walked away from him and into the kitchen, where she found a vase in cupboard. He followed her, angry.

“Who gave you those flowers?” he demanded.

Brienne laughed as she placed the lovely tulips in the vase and set them on a sideboard. “Jaime,” she said, turning to him, “No one has ever given me flowers. Ever. I bought these for myself.”

“Well, you _should_ be getting flowers, Brienne. You deserve them.” he said stubbornly.

She sat down on the settee and he sat beside her, a little too close, she thought. She moved away to give them more space. “If you must know, Jaime, I visited the house. Visited with Robb and Sansa, and helped Jon settle in.”

“Jon Snow?” he asked, confused.

Brienne nodded. “Yes. He was in need of a room, and I asked him to join the rest of the Starks at the house.”

“I remember how he was being particularly attentive to you, Brienne,” Jaime said peevishly.

“Well, I like him. I think he’s a good man,” Brienne said, an edge in her voice.

Jaime scowled, jealousy marring his features. They sat in an uncomfortable silence.

“I didn’t think you were going to return last night, Jaime,” she said, looking at him.

He shook his head and exhaled. “I would always come home to you, Brienne. You’re my _wife_.”

“Am I? I thought you’d forgotten,” she said, irritation in her tone.

He sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking miserable. “I lost track of time. I was with Cersei, then I had to clear my head, I went to a bar, and everything after that is a bit of a blur.”

She sighed. “And how is Cersei?”

He stared at her, his face growing pale. “She’s with child.”

“Surely she can’t know yet, she’s only been married a moon – oh – oh – I see.” She felt like someone punched her hard in the gut. Her heart clenched.

“She thinks she’s two or three months along. She thinks it’s fine, she’ll tell Robert the baby was born a month or two early. She says he’s a fool, he won’t notice the difference.” His face twisted in anguish.

“I – I suppose – congratulations are in order,” she said, patting him weakly on the hand. Her head was spinning. She stood up suddenly.

“Where are you going?” he said, hurriedly grabbing her hand.

“I’m sorry Jaime…we can talk later, I promise. I – I just don’t feel well. I need to lie down.” She twisted her hand away from his grasp and walked slowly up the stairs, feeling like she was in a waking nightmare. He followed her up but didn’t say a word, as she slowly took off her shoes and lay down on her side, shutting her eyes tight. She felt the bed dip beside her, and she slept.

She woke up an hour or two later, Jaime’s arms around her. For a moment, she felt content, but the conversations all came back, the one from this afternoon, his drunken ramblings last night. She slowly removed his arm from her.

“Brienne?” Jaime said, his voice thick with sleep, worry etched in his face. She sat up and faced him.

“All right. If you want to talk, we can talk.” She said, looking at him. He sat up, facing her, rubbing his eyes.

“Cersei is pregnant with your child,” Brienne said, matter-of-factly, internally steeling herself.

He nodded. They were silent.

“What do you remember about what you said last night?” she asked. He looked at her sharply.

He shook his head. “Nothing.” He looked up at her imploringly. “What did I say?”

“You said Cersei was upset that we slept together the night of the wedding,” Brienne said evenly.

He stared at her, as if suddenly afraid. “I said that to you?”

“Is it true?”

He nodded. “She was irrational to think I wouldn’t bed my own wife. My own wife! She makes love to Robert all the time,” he said bitterly, in a voice tinged with jealousy. “But she was angry at me because I wanted you, that I enjoyed our night together and wanted to do it again.”

“I see.” Brienne said. She looked at him dully.

“What else did I say?” he asked, almost whispering, dreading the answer.

She paused and looked at him coolly. “You said that you couldn’t fuck me anymore because it would upset Cersei.” He flinched at her use of the vulgar word, and tilted his head back and shut his eyes. Brienne could not help but admire the long, masculine line of his throat and Adam’s apple. _Stop it_ , she said to herself.

Finally, he opened his eyes and looked at her, his face full of sadness. “I’m sorry, Brienne.”

She smiled unconvincingly and patted his hand. “It’s all right. We consummated the marriage, that’s the important part. It can’t be annulled now.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you, Brienne.” He looked at her and grabbed her hand. “I really do. But I can’t betray Cersei in that way. And I’m sure you don’t want me running from her bed to yours.”

She remembered her revulsion the night before when she smelled Cersei’s perfume on him; she imagined how it would feel to actually smell _Cersei_ on him as he come back to her bed and embraced her.

“No, I wouldn’t like that,” she admitted.

“But you said you might want children-”

She shook her head. “Not now. Especially with-” She almost laughed, suddenly having the absurd vision of her and Cersei pregnant at the same time, with his sister growing more beautiful with each day, while she grew to resemble a beached, bloated whale. Jaime jumping from one bed to another, trying to please them both. Their children being compared: his with Cersei would be beautiful, while her own child would be as ugly as she was. And Cersei’s child would always be the one he loved more. It was all too ridiculous.

“No, of course not,” Jaime said, his face hurt. They were silent.

“Then I suppose we’ve settled things.” She stood up.

“I’m sorry, Brienne-”

She shook her head. “There’s nothing to apologize for, Jaime. You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s not as if you deceived me. You told me that you were in love with Cersei and would always be in love with her.” Brienne pursed her lips. “It’s my fault to have gotten caught up in everything. I was being a stupid, romantic girl.”

“What? Brienne-” he said, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I never thought that any man would want to marry me, Jaime.” Brienne said sadly. “So I consider myself lucky to be married to such a wonderful, kind man, who writes the most beautiful words.”

“Brienne,” Jaime breathed, looking at her with something like longing.

Their dinner was a subdued affair, with none of the lightness of the breakfast earlier that day. Brienne inwardly berated herself. She was a fool to think that it would be easy to be married to someone who was so devoted to another. Yet her mind did not go so far as to regret marrying Jaime. She would remember her wedding night, and how he made her feel loved and complete, if only for that night. Her father’s house had been saved; surely _that_ was worth not knowing true love?

Before Peck and Pia left, Pia said to Brienne, “The bath is ready ma’am, in your rooms.”

“A bath,” Jaime said, smiling. “What a good idea.”

“We can share-” she shook her head, as he raised his eyebrows. “I mean, you can go first, and I’ll follow.”

He chuckled. “All right, we can share. But I insist you go first, and take as long as you like. I don’t need my water to be hot.”

She went upstairs, and saw that a large bathtub had been prepared by the fire, along with a table with a variety of scented soaps. She eagerly disrobed and sank into the water, letting out a long groan. She wet her hair and washed it and scrubbed her body roughly, leaving it tingling. She lay there, just letting herself relax. She decided to leave the bath still warm for Jaime and reached for her towel, only to realize that she had forgotten to take out a towel. There was only one solution.

“Jaime!” she called out, loudly. She heard a muffled reply and he quickly entered the bedroom, his eyes widening as he spied her naked form under the water.

“Would you get me a towel?” Brienne said, blushing.

Jaime grinned. “Of course, my lady.” He quickly retrieved one from a drawer and handed it to her, his eyes surreptitiously glancing down her body. It was no matter; he had seen all of her on their wedding night, and nothing would ever come of it. She stood up, naked, and he at first made an attempt to avert his eyes, but she nonetheless felt the heat of his gaze roam up and down her body as she wiped herself dry. He had an odd, hungry expression on his face. She wrapped herself in the towel.

“It’s all yours,” she said.

He nodded, his eyes following her to her wardrobe where she dropped the towel and slipped her nightgown over her head, then her dressing gown. When she turned back she saw that he was naked, still staring at her, and that he was hard. She glanced at him, secretly marveling at the miracle of his body, and quickly averted her eyes.

“I’m going to do some writing next door,” she said, as she passed him by and left the room. 

She tried to concentrate on her writing, but she was conscious of every sound next door, disbelieving at first at what she was hearing. Jaime was moaning softly, and she heard small splashes of water; she gripped her pen hard, and tried to look at the page. She felt a warmth and wetness growing at her core and considered touching herself, as she sometimes did in the middle of the night. She shook her head, stubbornly focusing on the letters in front of her. She heard him whimpering now, then moaning even louder until he groaned loudly and she heard her name being desperately called. She realized that she was breathing hard, and put her head down on her desk in frustration. She wondered how one man can make her _want_ this much. There was silence now, splashing, and the noise of him getting out of the tub. She let out a breath and emptied her mind, and returned to her pages. She noticed then, with surprise, that ink had spilled on the page.

By the time she returned to the room, Jaime was already sleeping, and the embers of the fire were low. Quietly, she took off her dressing down and silently slid into bed. Jaime made a noise in his sleep and moved closer to her, his arms coming around her. She wondered if she should remove his arm, but sleeping with him against her was comforting, and she allowed herself to enjoy it, as she drifted off.

The weeks passed in relative peace. Without Jaime to focus on, she poured all of her energy into writing her novel, and slowly, the story took shape as she wrote down all the horrors that poured out from her brain. All her jealousy, rage, anger at being considered an ugly freak, her vindictiveness – all of it she stitched into her monster. Her baby. She was sure that readers would empathize with the young, handsome doctor who was ambitious and brilliant, and who was in love with his beautiful adopted sister that he grew up with. The readers would surely think of him as the hero of the book, but she knew the actual hero of the book was the pathetic and hateful monster. The story was also about the so-called civilized society that treated this creature who was initially as tender as a newborn babe so cruelly. Her creature, her monster, was alone and lonely and starving for love; everyone he encounters rejects him, and his anger and rejection make him seek revenge in the form of murder and mayhem.

Sometimes she went out to visit Robb, Jon or Sansa, whomever she found at home. She fantasized then, what it would have been like if she hadn’t married Jaime. It was a ridiculous thought, of course, because if she hadn’t married Jaime, she would no longer even be in the house. Still, was a house worth a lonely life? She wasn’t sure. She felt trapped in a maze of her own making.

Jaime was often in his study, writing. She knew he was working on a new volume of poetry, but would not let her read it before he deemed it ready. However, one day she was in the library to get a volume on electricity, when curiosity got the better of her and she looked at his desk. It was neat, but his notebook was open to a page, on which a poem was written. She thought to herself that looking the open page would surely do no harm; it wasn’t as if she was riffling through his notebook. She looked. On the page was a verse of a poem, she saw with dread, called “ _Sister_ ”:

_For thee, my own sweet sister, in thy heart_

_I know myself secure, as thou in mine;_

_We were and are—I am, even as thou art—_

_Beings who ne'er each other can resign;_

_It is the same, together or apart,_

_From life's commencement to its slow decline_

_We are entwin'd—let death come slow or fast,_

_The tie which bound the first endures the last!_

She felt her stomach drop, and had to grip the chair to prevent herself from falling. Cersei is beautiful and Jaime loves her, and loves her as much as he ever did. The fact that he was married to her – and sometimes desired her body (though he did not act on it) – meant nothing. She suddenly let out a wild laugh, and she found that she could not stop laughing, until she doubled over and tears were falling from her eyes. How stupid that she thought that just a little peek, just a few lines on a page, would do no harm. Again, this was a lesson to her, that Jaime did not belong to her and would never belong to her. _I am yours and you are mine_ , they had vowed to each other in front of gods and men at the sept. She was certainly wholly _his_ , much to her chagrin, while no part of him was left for her.

They lived parallel lives, both writing furiously, seeing each other at meals and at bedtime. Often she caught him looking at her with a peculiar expression of yearning on his face; sometimes he drew her close and embraced her, and she embraced him back, the pitiful, love-starved creature that she was. Sometimes she would feel his erection when they hugged, or when they woke up inexplicably in each other’s arms. It was then that he stared into her eyes with such hunger and intensity that she had to avert her gaze and draw away. It did no good for either of them, this simmering desire they had for each other but could not act upon.

There would be unexplained absences. Jaime would receive a note, then immediately leave, only to return hours later, or late that very night smelling of her perfume. She refused his embraces on those nights, not wanting to smell any more of Cersei on him. One dark night he staggered back, a cut above his eye and scratch marks on his face.

“What happened?” she said, alarmed and bolting out of bed. She put some wood into the fire, filling the room with light.

He winced and grabbed his head in pain.

“Nothing,” he said. 

She grabbed a basin and wet a cloth with warm water. She urged him to sit on a chair. His whole head smelled of wine, but he was clearly not drunk. There were small glass shards on his collar.

“Jaime,” she implored, “Please tell me,”

He looked at her, exhausted. “Cersei,” he said simply.

“She threw a glass of wine at you? And scratched your face?” she asked, anger rising within her. She slowly cleaned his wounds, and found tweezers to remove the bits of glass from his skin.

“She could have killed you, blinded you,” Brienne said, fuming. Jaime looked at her curiously, surprise in his eyes.

“It happens sometimes.” Jaime said. “Not for a long time. She was upset with me, I said something stupid. I don’t even remember what I did that made her do it,” he said confusedly.

“That’s not right, Jaime.” she said, glaring. “You shouldn’t take that behaviour from her.” He did not respond, but merely stared at her.

She gestured for him to take off his shirt. He did, revealing his taut and muscular golden chest. She wiped his neck and shoulders and the top of his chest with the warm cloth, all the places that seemed to have been soaked by the wine.

“You should have a bath tomorrow,” she said, “So you can wash that wine from your hair.”

He nodded, looking at her with a mixture of lust and adoration.

“Thank you,” he said, “For this, and for saying all those things.” He reached up and cupped her left cheek, caressing it with his thumb. He kissed her then, his lips soft and warm. She melted for a moment against him, allowing herself to kiss him back for a few seconds, then pulled back, stepping away.

“I’d better clean this up,” she said of the basin of dirty water.

“Brienne,” he called out to her softly.

She quickly left the room, and tried to catch her breath as soon as she was outside. His kiss burned her to her very soul. Her little soft heart was quivering, and there was no way to stop it.

=====

They had been married for four months, and nothing fundamental had changed; she wrote obsessively, first finishing her first draft, then spending the rest of the time revising, expanding or cutting certain sections. Jaime continued to write his book of poems, and would disappear regularly to visit his sister, sometimes coming home happy, sometimes subdued, sometimes angry, and sometimes with cuts or bruises on his body. It burned her to see him hurt after visits to his sister. She was convinced that Cersei was not good enough for him, that in fact, she was disastrous for him; yet there was no way to show him the truth of the situation. Jaime made every excuse for his sister, and cited her tiny frame and gender as the reason that she could not truly hurt him. He insisted to Brienne in these moments that he loved Cersei, that they were made to complete each other. It hurt her to see him so deluded and blind to what the nature his relationship with his sister truly was. She wished she could save him, make him see the truth, but she could not.

They were invited to a Lannister gathering, a small dinner at the Red Keep, the large estate of Cersei and Robert Baratheon. Upon meeting Robert, she thought that no man could be more opposite to Jaime; he was dark haired, gregarious, loud, talkative and made huge gestures with his arms. He drank to excess. Tywin was his usual controlled self, looking indulgently at his fellow political colleague and possible future leader of the country. Tyrion smiled a welcome at her, and eased her nerves about the gathering with anecdotes that made her giggle. After dinner, Robert was quickly off to his office, citing government business, leaving the others to entertain themselves in the drawing room.

As soon as Robert left, Jaime plunked himself down next to his sister, talking to her quietly and smiling, his expression bright. Cersei had even grown more beautiful with her pregnancy; she had quite a protruding belly but still retained her slim frame. Her skin glowed, her hair was more golden and shining than ever. She looked like the epitome of the Mother, a goddess come to earth. Jaime could not take his eyes away from her, and was solicitous to her every need, and frequently touched her hands and shoulders. If their relationship was not obvious before, it was very obvious now. Brienne noticed that Tyrion was watching her reaction with interest.

“When are you two planning on having children?” Tywin suddenly asked Brienne. Jaime looked sharply at her, as if he suddenly remembered that she existed, that he was even married. He looked vaguely shamed.

“Father, it’s only been four months. In any case, we’re waiting,” he said blandly.

Tywin turned his cold, hard gaze on her. “And what have you to say about this, Brienne? Do you not desire children?” She saw Jaime start, as if he wanted to move by her side.

Brienne blushed, but looked the older man in the eye. “Yes, I do want children someday. And I want my children to be raised by parents who love each other.” Tyrion raised an eyebrow at this; she blushed again, cursing her inarticulate words. “But I’m only two and twenty, and I want to enjoy the benefits of married life before I have a child,” she said, avoiding Jaime’s long stare.

Tywin exhaled loudly, and nodded. “I forget you are so young. You do have many good child-bearing years ahead of you, I suppose.”

“I guess you _are_ very young,” Cersei said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “But I must say that being pregnant is the most wonderful feeling in the world. To think, I have a beautiful baby growing inside of me, the perfect gift from a man who loves me with all his heart and soul.” She tossed her long, golden hair back, and placed a hand on Jaime’s knee. Jaime was studiously avoiding Brienne’s eyes.

Brienne felt herself trembling, flustered, and felt the blood leave her face. She abruptly stood up, murmuring, “Excuse me, I need some air,” and walked quickly out to the veranda and down to the gardens. She sat down on a stone bench, surrounded by roses. She struggled to breathe. She heard footsteps and hoped that it wasn’t Jaime come to comfort her. Instead, he saw the short figure of Tyrion, who looked at her with pity in his eyes. He sat beside her. For a while, they said nothing.

“My brother wanted to come out here, but I said he would have made things worse. Was I right?” Tyrion asked, looking at her with his perceptive mismatched eyes.

She nodded. They were silent again, and soon enough Brienne felt a little calmer.

“My brother’s a fool,” Tyrion blurted out, his voice edged with anger. Brienne looked sharply at him.

“He’s squandering you. He’s hurting you, the only person that could do him any good, the only person that could make him happy.” The man looked up at her with sad eyes. “And all for this twisted, poisonous, delusion of love he has with his twin sister.” She looked at him with surprise.

“Yes, I know you know. It was plainly obvious from your face back there.” Tyrion said. “I suspect that my sister and my father know that you know as well. Thus her very pointed, cruel remarks just now.”

Brienne twisted her hands in her lap. “I wish he could see how terrible she is for him, how cruel.” She glanced at Tyrion, “He comes home after meeting her with bruises and cuts and scratch marks sometimes. Did you know?”

Tyrion nodded somberly. “I’ve been trying to talk sense into Jaime all of my life. But it’s no use. He always takes her side. She has always been mean and cruel. I believe if she could have gotten away with it, she would have killed me by now. But dear Jaime always defends her and makes excuses for her.”

She nodded. “Tyrion, being in there, seeing the two of them together, utterly lost in their own little world, seeing Cersei carry Jaime’s baby,” Both Brienne and Tyrion winced. “And imagining how even more lost he’ll be when his child with the love of his life is born, I can’t do it.” He threw her a sharp glance. “I can’t watch him throw away his life like this. It hurts.”

“But he adores you. I think he even loves you, although he doesn’t allow himself to consider that possibility. You’re the only one in his life that’s been a kind, steadying force. Please don’t leave.” Tyrion pleaded.

“I know he…likes me, cares for me even, but he will never love me. But I, fool that I am, love him with all of my heart.” She felt tears roll down her face, and Tyrion threw his arms around her waist. She hugged him back.

“I’m so sorry,” Tyrion said, his eyes shining.

“We don’t even have a real marriage,” she said, “We consummated the marriage on the wedding night, but he hasn’t touched me since because he wants to remain faithful to her,”

Tyrion rolled his eyes and frowned. “For heaven’s sake. Cersei sleeps with Robert regularly.”

“I know, but the day after our wedding, he said Cersei would be upset if we continued to have intimate relations, and that was that.” She sniffed, then continued, “I knew what the situation was before we got married; I knew he would never give her up. But I was a stupid fool, and fell in love with him anyway. I said to myself, _you love him, but he doesn’t love you, at least you can be near him and sleep in the same bed. At least he likes and respects you_.”

Tyrion squeezed her hand.

“Tyrion, I know I should stay, but I just can’t. It feels like my heart is breaking. I can’t see those two together, no matter how much I want Jaime in my life.”

He looked at her for a long time, and reached out into his jacket pocket and pulled out a card, giving it to her. “Here’s my address. Visit me, write to me, whenever you need help. Anything, Brienne. With anything. Meanwhile, I promise not to tell him of your plans. You need to look after yourself, Brienne, before you break open entirely.”

She nodded, grateful.

=====

Brienne quietly moved her things, a little at a time, back to her old home, much to the confusion of Jon and Robb; Sansa had returned to Winterfell, having met most of society through Margaery, yet remained unattached, though she did not seem too upset over it. In the meantime, Brienne had finished her novel; copied out two clean copies, and sent them to Varys, a top publisher who was also Jaime’s publisher, and his publishing rival, Littlefinger.

If Jaime noticed her distance from the time of their visit to Cersei’s, he did not say; they continued with their everyday lives, meeting at meals and before bed; he still liked to kiss her on the cheek sometimes and cuddle her before they slept. His embrace was still comforting, but she told herself to guard what was left of her heart, to occupy it with her own soul.

Finally, the day came. She packed her bag with her remaining clothes and toiletries, and the precious original draft of her manuscript. She would leave the pictures and art she’d hung in her study; Jaime could do what he liked with them. She had dismissed Peck and Pia early, giving each of them a long hug, much to their astonishment. She considered just leaving him a letter to explain things, but she willed herself to be brave and tell him in person. Jaime was in his study writing. She knocked on the door.

“Come in,” he called out, still writing, finishing a last line.

“How goes the book, Jaime?” Brienne asked. He looked up at her, smiling.

“I’ve nearly got a first draft done. Revisions next,” he said. He noticed her now, perhaps saw an oddness about her expression, and looked at her carefully.

“Brienne,” he said, his face worried. “What is it?”

She took a deep breath. “I’m leaving.”

Jaime’s face was bemused and puzzled. “Leaving? Are you going on a trip?”

She shook her head, and walked toward him at his desk. She placed a hand on his and squeezed. “I’m leaving you, Jaime. This marriage.”

Jaime paled and his mouth dropped in shock.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, “I can’t continue on as we are any longer.” She looked out the window. “Seeing you with Cersei the other week, you looking so besotted with her, and how happy you were when you saw her carrying your child…it was torture for me. Especially knowing how cruel she is to you, Jaime.”

He shook his head in disagreement, but did not speak.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my end of the bargain. From the start, I knew you loved Cersei and would never love me.” She swallowed and paused. “But I made the mistake of falling in love with you, and I can’t go on like this.”

Her eyes filled with tears but she kept them at bay.

Jaime’s mouth opened in shock. “Brienne, you’re in love with me?” He stood up and grasped her hands, pulling her into an embrace. She let herself hug him back and enjoy being in his arms for a few seconds, then pulled away.

She chuckled weakly. “I guess I’m a poor inheritor of my parents’ philosophies on marriage. It turns out that I actually _want_ to be with someone who will love me back.”

“Brienne,” Jaime said, his voice thick. “I – I care about you a great deal. You’re the closest friend I have-”

“I know you care about me, Jaime. And you’ve been a kind husband, allowed me my freedoms. Perhaps one day we can be friends again.”

“Brienne, please don’t leave,” begged Jaime, his eyes wide and scared.

“Don’t worry – I won’t be suing for divorce any time soon; I realize the existence of this marriage is crucial to the protection of your relationship with Cersei.” She reached out and stroked his face. He closed his eyes and leaned to her touch.

“Don’t go, Brienne,” he said, opening his eyes, which were welling with tears. “I need you. I need you.”

She too was crying, but she wiped her eyes and nose with her handkerchief.

“All I ask is that I retain ownership of my house that you kindly saved when we got married. I ask for nothing more.” Brienne said, her body trembling.

“Yes, of course,” Jaime sat up, “But you can have money, the allowance that we agreed upon,”

She shook her head. “I want nothing else. I haven’t been the best wife to you, as per our agreement.”

He shook his head vehemently. “No, you’ve been the best wife to me. It is I who have been a terrible husband. A false husband.” He kissed her hands.

He continued, his voice wild. “But Brienne, if you stay, I will try again, harder, we can start anew, live the way a real husband and wife would live.” He placed her hands to his heart, and she felt the quick and violent thudding through his chest. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted you, how many times I wanted to make love to you. Please, Brienne, give me another chance.”

“No, Jaime. I’m sorry. I love you.” She stepped away and turned to leave. She couldn’t resist a look back and saw Jaime, looking at her with sadness and complete disbelief, his face pale, his hands by his side. But he let her go.

She was blinded yet again by tears, and quickly put on her coat and picked up her bag that she’d left in the foyer. She opened the door, walked into the sunshine, and left her married life behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STORY NOTES
> 
> The verse of poetry is from Byron's "Epistle to Augusta" - dedicated to his half-sister, Augusta, with whom he allegedly had an affair (they did not grow up together, take note). It was rumoured that Byron fathered a child with her (in a letter, Byron expressed relief that it wasn't "an ape" and if it were it would be his fault!). When I read the poem, I found it pretty shocking? But perhaps I'm reading too much into it.
> 
> Also, I somehow ended up researching Regency undergarments for the smut scene and was surprised to learn that the ladies (and the men) did not wear underwear. Thus, no mention of smallclothes in the smut.
> 
> AUTHOR NOTES
> 
> I'm curious about your thoughts on this very long chapter. What do you think of Jaime and the situation Brienne found herself in? I love reading your comments, so please send them in.
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and please hit that button if you haven't already and like this story.
> 
> Next part is the end! That was quick.


	4. PART FOUR: Births

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne tries to return to her old life. She attempts to forget about Jaime and her broken heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Ro_Nordmann for the incredible cover image!!!
> 
> Readers, your comments on the last chapter were amazing, thrilling, entertaining and wonderful to read! Thank you so much, especially to those who took the extra time to write lengthy comments. I loved reading each and every one of your reactions.
> 
> The consensus is: how am I going to resolve the terrible situations and heartbreak that our characters find themselves in? Well readers, I have tried. I hope the final part is satisfying to you and pays off all the emotional turmoil and angst that I put you through. There's a lot to get done, so this is also another long chapter, at over 9k words. 
> 
> -

_(Cover Art by Ro_Nordmann)_

=====

The return to her former life was surprisingly uneventful; she slid back into her previous self with remarkable ease, perhaps because she was never _truly_ married. It was as if she had come back from a long vacation in a strange land where everything shocked and bruised her; in the transition back to the comforting regularity of her old life, she felt her heart close with a finality: a key turning the bolt of the lock. Robb and Jon accepted her return with joy and generosity, and Jon even changed rooms so she could return to her old chambers. They did, however, shoot her looks of pity and concern at regular intervals. It might have been considered inappropriate to be living in close quarters with two young bachelors, but she felt so removed from regular society that she cared not a jot. Besides, she was still a married woman, and these young, handsome gentlemen merely her tenants, never mind they were of the same age. 

Her time with Jaime she began to think of as an extended interlude in a disturbing dream, like a life that had belonged to a different, prettier, smaller girl that Brienne had erroneously stepped in for a few moments. Yet there was no denying the pain in her heart that remained, the longing for that face that she thought for a moment had been hers. Sleeping alone was the worst; while they were often apart in the day, Jaime had never failed to share her bed at night, even upon returning late from Cersei. She was used to feeling his strong, solid chest next to her and his arms draped around her. Consequently, she slept poorly and little, but accepted it as her new way of being.

She dealt with her heartbreak the way she did with everything, by plunging herself into work, writing disposable stories and selling these tales of tragic romance to the papers; however, she found to her surprise and dismay that funds were being deposited into her account regularly. She wrote to Tyrion to ask his brother to put a stop to this practice, but Jaime apparently refused, because the money continued coming consistently and predictably.

It was reported in the papers that Cersei Baratheon had given birth to a healthy baby, a boy named Joffrey. Brienne felt a sudden pang in her chest; words of the newspaper began swimming in front of her eyes. She imagined Cersei, her golden hair loose, red-cheeked, exhausted, with Jaime by her side, holding an impossibly blond baby. The perfect, beautiful family. She violently flung the paper to the corner of the room, much to the surprise of Jon, who was sitting at the dining table with her. It was all she could do to keep from suddenly weeping or destroying an innocent piece of furniture. Of Jaime himself, she had no contact; neither of them reached out, and Brienne thought that it was likely for the best.

Every day, she walked the moorland surrounding her house, feeling like a grey ghost, yet grateful for this large plot of wild land that buffeted her from the chaos of King’s Landing. And the country was a mess indeed. From what she read in the papers, the government was scrambling, and by the end of it, Robert Baratheon had become the new Prime Minister. She remembered the gregarious, fun-loving, loud and sometimes vulgar man and wondered how there was anyone less suited to be head of government. And Cersei was now the Prime Minister’s wife. Brienne wondered how some people appeared to have everything but still were terrible, miserable people.

Jon accompanied her on her walk that day, as he sometimes did, strolling arm in arm with her on the heath; most times they were silent, but Brienne was always grateful for his calm and steadying presence. She did not know if she could have survived had she been isolated and left alone in an empty house, so far away in the furthest corners of the city. However, today Jon appeared to have something on his mind.

He looked at her with his dark serious eyes. “Brienne, we haven’t spoken about it, but I want to say how sorry I am…about Jaime.”

Brienne nodded, wincing a little. “I haven’t felt so inclined to talk much about it. But I was grateful that neither you nor Robb demand explanations; it helped me, somehow, to move on.”

He gave her arm a squeeze, his dark grey eyes large with concern.

She looked at him, pain in her eyes. She sighed. “He was in love with another, an impossible other; we thought to make it work, since we had respect and affection for each other, but I was foolish enough to fall in love with him in earnest. The situation became unbearable, at least for me.”

“Another impossible love,” Jon said compassionately.

“Loss is often difficult to bear,” he said, inviting her to sit on a wooden bench. He looked down. “I lost my love two years ago. Carriage accident; she died in my arms.”

She looked at him in shock. “Jon…I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” She felt ashamed then, of all her petty problems and superficial feelings of loss. He had dealt with death; she could not imagine Jaime being gone from the face of this earth. The thought of Jaime’s death was not something she could fathom. Even though he was exiled from her life, he still existed and was breathing, and she was glad, even though they were estranged.

He shook his head, turning to her with a gentle smile. “It’s all right.” He paused. “I tell you this because even though you may be devastated and your heart may be broken right now, it is possible to heal, and get better. Soon, you’ll be glad that you had the chance to love someone, even if the love itself did not end well.”

“ _You_ are all right, now, Jon?” She asked, squeezing his hand. He stroked the back of her hand absentmindedly with this thumb.

He gave her a long look and nodded. “Yes. I’m much better than I was. It took time, and the comfort of good friends, which I also know you have in your own situation. You have me and Robb, especially.”

Brienne’s throat felt tight with tears. “Yes, I do. I’m thankful for that.” She looked at Jon again. “Jon, you haven’t wanted to love another since then?”

He gave her a sad, small smile. “No, but I hope I will want to love soon.”

There was nothing much more to say. They continued walking. Before they were about to return to the house, he turned to her and gave her a tentative look, pursing his lips.

“What is it, Jon?” Brienne stopped and faced him.

Jon coloured a little. “It’s nothing. It’s just – you know on the Isle of Faces, we spoke about writing ghost stories, and you wrote your monster into a novel.” Brienne nodded, and he continued, uncertainly, “Well, I’ve also written a little story, only about eighty pages long, about a different type of monster called the _Vampyre_.”

“Jon!,” Brienne smiled with genuine pleasure for the first time since she returned. “Have you written a horror novella? I had no idea you wrote!”

The young doctor blushed an even deeper pink. “I don’t really write, only in my journals, of course, but I don’t know, after I returned from the Isle, this story just…haunted me and prodded me until I wrote it down. I’m a terrible writer, so took me a long time to finish, rewrite and revise.”

She looked at him with brightness in her blue eyes. “Will you let me read it? I mean, if you’re comfortable.”

“That’s why I brought it up, I wanted to ask your opinion.” Jon said, smiling.

“I would love to, Jon. If anything else, it will take my mind off the horrible Lannister family.” Jon nodded and gave her a rare, unabashed grin that transformed his whole face.

Brienne devoured Jon’s manuscript, and became obsessed with the shadowy figure of Lord Ruthven, a monster in the shape of a dashingly handsome and wealthy man who kills people he gets close to by draining them of their blood. The main character, a hapless young man, is helpless as he witnesses his lover and his own sister succumb to the aristocratic vampyre’s seductions. Aristocratic men and women are left pale, bloodless and dead. That night, sitting together by the hearth, Brienne spoke to Jon and recommended he publish it; she asked if he minded if she were to show them to potential publishers on his behalf, and he readily agreed, though he was bewildered that Brienne actually liked his story in the first place.

One day Brienne came home to a couple of letters: appointment requests from both Varys and Littlefinger publishers, who expressed keen interest in publishing her book, much to her profound disbelief. She met with each of them, each one offering deals; each was aware of their rival’s interest, and negotiations went back and forth. Littlefinger had wanted her to publish the work under a male pseudonym, telling her that her book was too ‘masculine’ for the masses to believe it was written by a twenty-two-year-old girl. In the end, she chose to go with Varys, who was also Jaime’s publisher; he seemed a little more trustworthy than Littlefinger, but seemed just as shrewd. Plus, he had no trouble believing that the book would be a success if it had her real name on it. He also offered her a large advance, and a substantial share of the profits. Brienne readily agreed, and passed along Jon’s novella to Varys as well, just in case he was interested.

And so her first book, _The Modern Prometheus_ by Brienne Tarth, was born, a real, honest-to-goodness book with a brilliant sapphire blue cloth cover and embossed gold lettering. Opening the box containing her books was one of the proudest moments of her life, and she was glad Robb and Jon were by her side to share the moment. She was moved nearly to tears when she saw the handsome book, and she could not resist cradling it in her arms. When she saw her name – not her married name, but her _real_ name – on the cover and spine of the book – in gold lettering, no less – she was happier than she’d ever been in months. She could hardly believe she wrote the book that she held in her hands; it was real, and she felt as proud of it as she would have if she birthed a real human baby.

She gave Robb and Jon each a copy, and both of them rushed to their rooms to read it. Then she mailed a copy to Sansa, Tyrion, and to her father on Tarth. There was only one person left to give the book to: Jaime. She walked slowly across the heath, trying to prepare herself to possibly see him. Part of her wished that he wouldn’t be home, so she could just drop the book off with Peck or Pia. She had no idea what she would say to him if he were there.

Finally, she stood in front of her married home, looking up at the familiar windows, the house, all the while unsure about whether to proceed forward or go back. She was flooded with memories, good and bad. She flashed back to their wedding night, and Jaime’s passionate kisses and searing touch, and the pleasure that she had not felt since. She reminded herself to shutter those memories, shutter that vulnerable heart of hers. She must have stood there like a fool for many minutes, for the next thing she knew, the front door opened, and Jaime came bursting out.

“Brienne!” he exclaimed, his voice full of emotion. He looked, frankly, terrible. He’d lost weight, was unshaven, looked tired, and had dark circles under his eyes. Although it was well into the day, he was still in his dressing gown.

“Jaime,” she said, and she quickly walked inside, not wanting a scene in the fashionable streets of King’s Landing.

He looked at her oddly, as if she were a ghost. “I saw you from the bedroom window, and you were just standing there, and I didn’t know you were real. I thought I had conjured you.”

“Jaime,” Brienne said, looking at him with concern. “Are you well?”

He smiled. “I am, for the present.” He called Pia and asked her to make tea. Pia, spotting Brienne, gave her a beaming smile. He gestured for her to sit, and she sat on the settee; Jaime sat next to her.

He looked at her, as if trying to drink her in. “Brienne, you look well. Very well. You’re beautiful.” He reached up to touch her cheek but stopped himself.

She blushed. “Thank you, Jaime.” She looked around. “Nothing here seems to have changed,” she observed mildly.

“No. I’ve left everything as it was since you left.” Jaime said, biting his lip.

They sat in uncomfortable silence. Thankfully, Pia brought in the tea, and she poured Jaime a cup and handed it to him.

“I – I wanted to say congratulations on the baby. A boy, I read. Joffrey. You must be happy.”

He stared at her with the strangest expression on his face. “Yes, Cersei is thrilled, and so is Robert. He seems to be a healthy boy.”

Brienne shifted uncomfortably. “It must feel pleasing to spend time with your first child.”

The look he gave her was sad. “Brienne, I may have helped produce the boy with my seed, but I’m in no way the child’s father. Cersei won’t let me near him, thinking people will suspect the truth. He looks very much like me, apparently.”

She looked at him with pity. “I’m sorry to hear that. I know you were looking forward to the baby. To being a father.”

“Brienne,” Jaime said, his face twisted in despair. “I’m sorry about the way I treated you. I was selfish. I took you for granted.”

Her heart ached; she wanted to enfold him in her arms, she wanted to take him back if he’d let her. But she knew that would only lead to more heartbreak for her.

“Me and Cersei – I haven’t laid with her since you left,” he burst out. She started in surprise.

“I couldn’t for a while, because I constantly thought of you. You were gone, and there was this massive hole that you left in this house, in my life, in my heart. I couldn’t make sense of it.” He gazed at her sadly.

“And Cersei – Cersei-” His face turned angry and bitter. “I found out she had been unfaithful, even before Robert, and still after Robert. With my fifteen-year-old cousin, and some guards that worked for Robert,” he said dully.

“Oh, Jaime. I’m so sorry,” she said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. At her touch, Jaime simply crumpled, and started sobbing. Tentatively, she put her arms around his back, and he collapsed into her lap, his arms clinging to her waist. Violent sobs wracked his body, as he seemed to let everything out. She tightened her arms around him and rocked him back and forth. She realized that she loved him still. Of course she loved him. She sighed. Eventually, his sobs eased to intermittent hiccups, and he sat up, embarrassed.

“I seemed to have ruined your skirt,” Jaime said dryly. She took out a handkerchief and gave it to him to wipe his face.

“Jaime,” she said, “When was the last time you ate a full meal?”

He shook his head. She grabbed his hand and sat him down on the dining table. She went to the kitchen and asked for a simple lunch from Pia. She asked Peck to prepare a bath. They both enthusiastically agreed and went into action.

She and Jaime sat together then, sharing a lunch of cold chicken and summer vegetables, followed by a lemon sorbet. They did not talk much, but Jaime kept staring at her with large eyes, as if making sure she was real, that she was still there.

She led him upstairs, where Peck and Pia had filled the tub with steaming water. He stared at the water, then at her, as if transfixed.

“It’s time to get yourself cleaned up,” Brienne said firmly. When he made no move to undress, she sighed and started to undo the knot of his dressing gown, slipping it off his shoulders. He wore no shirt underneath, just loose breeches. He was still beautiful, but some of his muscles had withered and he was much thinner than she remembered. He still stood there, looking at her with disbelief. She sighed again and unbuttoned his breeches, pulling them down.

He looked down at himself. “Gods, I’m pathetic,” he muttered.

“That’s not true,” Brienne said sternly. She helped him into the bath, and a quiet moan escaped his lips as he sunk into the water. She handed him some soap, and he started to wash himself slowly. Relieved, she made a move to get up but his wet hand shot out and grabbed her arm.

“No. Don’t go,” he said, his face desperate.

She nodded, and perched on a stool next to his tub, trying to avoid looking at his nakedness. When he was done, she wrapped him in a towel and helped him into a night shirt.

“You look like you haven’t had much sleep lately, Jaime,” she said, leading him to the bed and pulling away the covers.

“No, I haven’t,” he murmured, climbing into bed. She tucked him in.

He looked at her uncertainly. “Will you…lie down beside me for a little while?”

She gave him a long look and nodded. She lay down on top of the covers beside him, close but not touching. He turned to his side to look at her, making sure she was there. She reached out and touched his eyes closed.

“Sleep,” she urged. She watched him as he slowly drifted off, his tense face relaxing, the worry lines easing around his eyes, until he looked as carefree as she remembered him looking when she first met him. He was still beautiful, and she still loved him. It was as simple as that.

She quietly got up, left the room and returned with her novel, which, in all the commotion, she had earlier forgotten to give. She left it next to him on the bed, on what was once her pillow.

=====

The next day at home, she had a delivery of blue cornflowers with a note that simply said, “Thank you.” She smiled sadly, remembering Jaime and his comment months ago that people should be sending her flowers. But she was further astonished that from then on, she would receive a bouquet of flowers, delivered once a week, without fail, all of them without a note. She did not hear from Jaime otherwise, nor did she wish to repeat her visit, knowing more than her heart would be in peril if she did so.

 _The Modern Prometheus_ was met with resounding success and was an immediate sensation; people were disgusted but seemingly fascinated by the story, and many men doubted that the author could have been a woman, since no member of the fairer sex could conceive of a such a rough, vulgar, and horrific story, and so hideous a subject. The more religious types thought the book an abomination, which in turn created even more demand for the book. It was displayed in the window of every bookshop, and was the constant talk of the town. Multiple editions followed in quick succession, and Brienne started earning large amounts of money that she’d never thought she would see in her lifetime.

Jon’s novella _Vampyre_ was rushed to publication by Varys, in an attempt to cash in on the current craze for monsters, and the public’s strange predilection for horrors. The book was also an immediate success, as the readers of _The Modern Prometheus_ rushed to the seductive arms of the vampyre, sating their need for both blood and lust.

Weeks later, Brienne received a delivery of flowers, but this time it came with a package wrapped in plain brown paper. Curious, she opened it, to reveal a red book – Jaime’s new poems. She smiled, pleased that he had finished it at last. It was also a sign that he was doing much better than he had earlier been.

She opened the volume and flipped through it, nearly dropping the book after having turned to the dedication page and seeing: “ _For Brienne – my wife, my true love._ ” She stared at the words, not believing what she was seeing. A hot rage started to boil inside her as she continued to look at the page. She nearly threw the book into the fire. She stood up and practically ran out of the house, walking quickly across the heath to Jaime’s house.

She banged on the door. Peck, surprised, let her in. “Where is he? Is he home?” She demanded loudly.

“In his study, Mrs. Lannister,” he said, shocked. She glared at him for using her married name. She stormed into his office, where he was reading in an armchair. He looked healthy and well, back to his old handsome self. He stood up as soon as he saw her, a bright smile on his face.

“Brienne!” he exclaimed. He looked at her and soon his smile died, having been replaced by confusion and uncertainty.

“What is this?” Brienne demanded, holding up the red volume in her hands and waving it.

“My book? I’m glad you received it,” he said, looking apprehensive.

“No, Jaime. _This_.” She held out the book open to the page in question. “ _For Brienne, my wife, my true love_?”

Jaime’s eyes were wide. “Look, Brienne-”

“Is this for the public? To tell them that we have a normal marriage? So you can cover up your relationship with your sister a little more effectively and for all of posterity?”

“No! Of course not!” he shouted. “How could you accuse me of such a thing?”

“How could I accuse you? Jaime, isn’t this what our whole marriage was all about? Covering up your true love with Cersei?”

Jaime winced. “Brienne, please-”

“I won’t be party to it any more. I refuse to be Mrs. Lannister any longer. I want a divorce.” She dropped the book, and turned to leave. Jaime moved and grabbed her arm, turning her around forcefully. He firmly held her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes, his face fierce and determined.

“Just listen to me. Brienne, please.” She allowed him to lead her to an armchair and push her into it. Tears were falling from her eyes now, big hot tears that she couldn’t stop.

“How can you mock me like this, Jaime? To put those lies in black and white, on printed paper,” she whimpered.

Jaime knelt before her and held her face in her hands, making her look at him. “Brienne. They aren’t lies.” He looked at her with desperation, his green eyes unbearably bright. “I love you. I’m _in_ love with you.”

She shut her eyes tight and opened them, a new rush of anger running through her.

“No. I don’t believe you.” She pushed his hands from her face.

“I love you, Brienne.”

“You love your sister.”

“No, no longer. Not ever.” Jaime said firmly.

She glared at him. “You’ve told me hundreds of times that you love your sister. That your sister was your true love. That you’ll always love her. That I should _understand_.”

He grabbed her hands and brought them to his chest. “I know what I said. And I’m sorry. But what I had with her wasn’t love. It was never love.”

She stared at him, unable to speak.

“Yes, I thought I was in love with her; I was convinced of it. What I had with Cersei was all I ever knew, ever since our mother died. Later, I was twelve years old when we started our sexual affair. I believed her when she said we belonged together, that we were two parts of a whole, that we shared one soul. I wanted to believe her, I wanted to love someone and for someone to love me. But she was always spiteful and mean, and was often cruel toward me. So I made up a version of her that I fell in love with, the Cersei I was devoted to. When I looked at Cersei, that version of her was what I saw, not the twisted reality of who she really was. What she did to me, the horrible things I felt when I was with her, I thought that was love. It all got mixed up in my brain.” Jaime gave her a pained, apologetic look.

“After you left, Tyrion spoke to me about Cersei’s treatment of me, how true love should not include hitting the supposed object of your love, or screaming at them, or insulting them. I dismissed it at the time, but it made me remember all the same things that you used to say to me when I came home with a new cut or bruise.” He looked at her fondly. “How tender you were with me, Brienne. It’s what I remember most about those nights.”

He continued, tightening his grasp on her hands. “After you left, I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t write or work on the book; I didn’t want to see Cersei, and I couldn’t be around your ghost that I so often saw in our house. I asked Tyrion to find me some opium, but he refused, and I was in no state to go seeking it on my own.” Brienne stared at his face, at his mouth trembling with emotion. 

“Brienne, I returned to the Isle of Faces. I remembered the complete peace I felt in the weirwood grove when we visited. Being there brought on a nightmare vision for Cersei, but it made me feel at one with all the world. So I visited the weirwood forest, and sat there for some hours, and somehow I fell asleep with my head against a tree.” He put his head on her lap for a moment, then looked at up at her, his face adoring.

“I dreamed of you. I dreamed of your face, your smile, your body. Your voice, your laugh, the way you looked at me. Your kindness, your strength, your determination. The numerous times you took care of me when I was drunk or hurt or upset. I saw your genius, your immense imagination that you are so modest about. I felt us embrace, kiss and make love. I saw us both naked, vulnerable and open to each other. When I woke up, it was as if I saw clearly for the first time. I saw _you_. And I knew that I’d been in love with you even before we got married, though I was a blind fool and did not open my eyes enough to notice.” He gently stroked her face and cupped it gently with both hands.

“Brienne,” he sighed, his eyes dark and full of wanting.

Brienne stared at him, afraid. She was afraid that he was telling the truth. She knew – oh she knew – deep in her soul that what he was saying was true. But she was frightened for her heart. It had been through too much. She had deliberately shuttered it closed, and bolted it shut with locks.

“I love you, Brienne,” Jaime said, leaning in to give her a soft kiss. A part of her wanted to grab him and kiss him back, but the stubborn part of her, the disbelieving part of her, stopped herself.

“Jaime – I must go.” She stood up and he scrambled up from his knees.

“Brienne, please give me another chance,” Jaime implored, pulling her into an embrace. His arms felt all too real. He let her go, searching her face.

“I don’t know, Jaime,” she said honestly, confused. “I’m afraid to trust you again.”

His face was pained. “Will you…allow me to gain back your trust, a little at a time?”

She stared into his earnest face, his face that was so eager and open to her, as it had never been. She reluctantly nodded, and he let out a relieved sigh. She picked up her copy of his book, and turned to go.

“Thank you for sending me your book. I’ll read it.” Giving him a last quick glance, she left. She walked back through the heath in a muddled fog, trying to process his words from this afternoon. Was she to believe him when he said he no longer – or never – loved his sister? Was this a mummer’s farce, a part of his theatre craft that he was trying to pull over her? She would have told herself to believe her heart, but her heart wasn’t to be trusted, for all it wanted was Jaime, and at the smallest flicker of hope, it had ignited under his longing gaze.

Later that night, she sat down in an armchair and read his new book, from beginning to end, in one sitting. She realized that the volume included poems of despair and hopelessness, but also many love poems. They were the work of a man who had gone through grief and was still emerging from its barren climes, a man who fell, started crawling on his hands and knees, and was just now approaching the edge of the heath, where shrubs and little flowers were just starting to grow. The poems in the book were glorious, clearly his best work. And she realized with relief that the poem dedicated to his sister was not included in the book.

She was glad for Jaime, to have tackled his own feelings of sadness while still imbuing a sort of hope to the work. As for what happened earlier that afternoon, she avoided thinking about; it was all like a dream, Jaime’s confession of love, which seemed so sudden. She was glad, of course, that he was no longer under Cersei’s power for his own sake, but it troubled her to encounter his passion and vehemence directed at her, his insistence that he was in love with her, a person who had been in front of him this whole time. She was afraid Jaime did not know what love actually was, and just clung on to her like a life raft.

=====

The next morning there was a knock on the door, and she was surprised to find Jaime standing there, a bouquet of blue flowers in his hand. Her heart leapt, while her mind was perplexed.

“Doing personal deliveries now, are you?” Brienne said, frowning slightly, and taking the flowers and going to the kitchen for a vase.

He grinned, following her in and looking around. “No Starks this morning?”

“If you mean Robb and Jon, no, they’re away working.”

Jaime turned to look at her, a gleam in his eye. “I thought that you might be interested in walking around the heath. That is your custom in the mornings, is it not?”

She looked at him suspiciously. “And _how_ did you know that?”

He smirked. “I have my secret sources.”

She set the flowers on the dining table. “Thank you for these. And all the flowers you’ve sent. You don’t have to, you know.”

Jaime smiled. “You deserve all the flowers, Brienne.” Jaime was sunshine personified, with his golden curls and bright smile that became even brighter the moment he laid eyes on her. He seemed hopeful, even in the face of her obvious hesitation.

They walked leisurely through the heath, enjoying the late summer sun.

“I read your book, Jaime,” Brienne said, looking softly at him. “It’s wonderful. Your best work.”

He lowered his head modestly, and looked over at her. “All the love ones are about you, you know.”

She blushed. “I doubt that’s true. What about ‘She Walks in Beauty,’ the poem you recited at the Isle of Faces? Isn’t that one about your sister?”

Jaime laughed. “Do you think the lines ‘ _so soft, so calm, yet eloquent’_ and ‘ _a mind at peace with all below’_ describes _any_ aspect of my sister?”

“No, I don’t, but I thought that you believed that’s how she was.” Brienne looked at him curiously.

“I wrote that poem about you, Brienne.” Jaime chuckled. “I think my muse was trying to tell me something back then, but I never really listened. I knew there was something…special about you. At the time, it puzzled me how drawn to you I felt.”

He turned to her, now. “And what about you? I was surprised to wake up that day to find instead of you beside me, this mysterious blue book on my pillow. It astounded me, Brienne, the power of the story, of your prose. This was the story you came up with that weekend on the Isle of Faces?”

Brienne nodded. “I had two terrifying nights there, with vivid nightmares; and of course there were the conversations that we had as a group.”

“Ghost stories….”

“Indeed.”

“And Jon’s book, _The Vampyre_ – he was similarly inspired by his stay there? I didn’t know he wrote. I was exceedingly surprised at how good it was.” Jaime said a little peevishly.

“He said the story didn’t leave him alone until he wrote it down. I think the success of it surprised him more than it surprised anyone else. But I knew as soon as he showed it to me that it would capture the public’s imagination, so much so that I gave it to Varys right away.” She smiled brightly at the sun, squinting.

Jaime gave her a long look. “Jon is fortunate to have you under the same roof then,” he said, with some jealousy.

“I suppose he is,” Brienne confirmed, giving him an arch look.

They had returned to her house. Jaime bowed and kissed her hand, smiling charmingly up at her, his dimples on full display. He started to walk away, then glanced back at her and waved. He continued, with a spring in his step. She stared at his retreating form until he disappeared over the crest of a hill.

In the weeks following, every morning she found Jaime waiting at her doorstep, ready to accompany her on her walk, always bearing a gift. Sometimes he brought her flowers, sometimes candies or cakes, sometimes books or fine pens. Jaime mostly kept the conversation flowing, and he asked her question after question, seemingly curious about her life and opinions. She began to enjoy his company again; she believed that they had never spent this much time just _talking_ to each other in all the time they were married. The tension between them eased bit by bit as the weeks passed. In all that time, he had not once returned to Cersei; in fact, he barely spoke of her, except in passing. She increasingly felt at ease with him again, and began to get used to him. Every day, she found herself looking forward to his knock on the door, to his bright smile and playful quirk of the lips.

When during one of their walks the skies opened and rain started pouring, it was logical enough that they run to his home to wait out the storm, since it was relatively close by. They ran as quick as they could, their legs getting splashed with mud and rain, but by the time they arrived at the house, both of them were completely drenched. They went up the stairs to the bedroom and Jaime handed her a towel. He was rooting through his dresser, pulling out a shirt and breeches and handing them to her.

“I’m sure you’ll be comfortable in these, _B. Tarth_ ,” he said, smirking. She smiled. He took his own set of clothes and left her in the bedroom to change.

The clothes were indeed well suited for her, as Jaime and her were nearly of the same height and almost as broad. He grinned as he spotted her enter the drawing room. Jaime himself was wearing his silk dressing gown and breeches, looking like every inch the debauched poet.

“You look well in trousers, Brienne,” he said, openly admiring her.

“Oh?” She sat down on the settee, crossing her legs.

Jaime bit his lip as his eyes followed her movements. “You have no idea what your long legs do to me,” Jaime murmured.

Brienne laughed, shaking her head. She looked around, noticing for the first time a new addition to the room. She stood. “Is that…?”

Jaime smiled, getting up. “Yes, a pianoforte. It’s yours. I should have gotten you one earlier, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Brienne ran her hands along the shiny wood inlaid with intricate geometric patterns. “Jaime, you shouldn’t have,” she said, looking at him in mild admonishment. “It’s beautiful,” she said finally. “May I?” she asked, looking at Jaime.

“Please.”

She sat down and lifted up the cover, and lightly touched the shiny keys. She listened to the sound of heavy rain outside. She closed her eyes and began to play the first song that came to her mind, the lullaby that her father used to sing to her when she was a child. The pianoforte was exquisite, responsive to her lightest touch, able to sound out the smallest nuance in expression. Even though it had been almost a year since she last touched the instrument, her fingers remembered and music flowed out of them as if from a stream. She felt transported with the tide of music. When she was finally done, she opened her eyes.

Jaime was standing behind her, his body radiating warmth even through their clothes. His fingers were lightly tracing the nape of her neck. She shivered.

“That was beautiful,” Jaime said, his face behind her, his breath hot on her skin. He gently touched his lips to her neck. She suppressed a moan.

“Jaime,” she said, looking up at his face.

“Brienne,” he said, his eyes full of admiration. “I love you.”

She pulled his head to her urgently, forcefully pressing her lips to his, opening his mouth with her tongue; he kissed back eagerly, pulling her up from her chair to standing and pulling his body into hers.

Outside, a storm raged, as the rain lashed against the windows and thunder rumbled in the distance.

His hands were all over her body, running up and down her back, coming to her front and caressing her breasts. She moaned into his mouth. She felt as if a fever were running through her; she ran her fingers through his hair and pressed her lips to his neck, licking and sucking at his skin. He growled and started unbuttoning her shirt while she pulled off his dressing gown; they both groaned when their naked skin met, and they lowered themselves onto the carpet. They frantically removed their breeches and Jaime kissed her breasts, sucking on her nipples, making her arch and moan to his ministrations. She felt him hard against her thigh and reached down to squeeze his thick length. He groaned into her chest. He lowered his kisses down to her belly, as this hands ran up and down the length of her long legs. She gasped loudly when his mouth touched her sex.

“Jaime!” she cried, looking down at his face between her legs. “What are you doing?”

He looked up, his eyes dark with lust and smiled. “Something I should have been doing every day to you, wife.”

She sighed, felt herself melting under his mouth, as he licked up and down her seam, his tongue exploring her inner folds. She moaned, and moaned even more as he started to circle her nub with his tongue, sucking her with greater and greater intensity until she was writhing under his mouth, her pleasure increasing until she felt like she was exploding with ecstasy that left her seeing stars. She didn’t know whether it was real or imagined, but she saw flashes of lightning.

Jaime came up and kissed her, and she opened his legs for him and he entered her in one thrust, making her cry out as the aftershocks of her orgasm intensified, bringing her even more pleasure. He thrust hard in and out of her, groaning and grunting, moving faster until with a cry of surprise he peaked, shooting his seed deep inside her, shuddering and moaning helplessly. He collapsed on top of her, completely spent. She liked feeling his weight on her, feeling their breaths slow and feeling the swift beating of his heart against her chest.

“I’ll do better next time, I promise,” Jaime finally said, moving out of her and rolling over onto his back.

“Oh? I rather liked that,” Brienne said. “But I look forward to finding out what you can do better,” she teased. He moved to kiss her, and he lay on his side, wrapping his arms and his legs around her.

“I can’t believe we’ve wasted all this time, when we could have been fucking every day, multiple times a day,” Jaime said, shaking his head. “I certainly wanted to, Brienne.” He kissed her cheek.

She turned her head to look at him and smiled. Suddenly her face was filled with horror. “Jaime, are Pia and Peck here?”

He laughed, throwing his head back. “No, Brienne. It’s their day off. Although I don’t think I could have resisted you even if they _were_ here.”

Brienne looked at him fondly, feeling as if she was just waking up from a dream. She sat up and Jaime made a sound of protest. She looked out the window. “The storm’s ended,” she said. “I should get dressed and go back.”

Jaime nuzzled her neck. “Stay the night, why don’t you?”

She gave him a brief kiss and shook her head. “Robb and Jon will be worried.”

She went upstairs, put on her clothes which she had left by the fire. Thankfully they were relatively dry. She looked in the mirror, surprised to see how bright her eyes looked, how pink her cheeks were; she almost looked pretty, she thought. She slowly descended the stairs. Jaime had dressed in his breeches and in the shirt she had earlier been wearing.

He looked at her and reached out with his hand to cup her cheek. He must have seen something in her face that made him hesitate. “Brienne, what’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.” She walked to the kitchen and opened a cupboard, relieved to find the paper package still there. She put the kettle on. Jaime looked at the package and opened it.

“Moon tea?” Jaime asked, his eyebrows raised.

She nodded. “I bought some, the day after we wed. Just in case, I thought. But I never had to take it ever again,” she chuckled sadly.

“Oh gods, I’m sorry,” he said. He pulled her into an embrace, his lips against her cheek. “You know that won’t happen again, Brienne. I want to fuck you every day. I want to be with you tomorrow and all the rest of my days, if you’ll have me.”

He pulled away and looked at her. She averted her eyes, and turned to the stove, pouring hot water into the measurement of tea and left it to steep. She turned back to him.

“Jaime…I want to believe you, I really do, but I can’t help feeling that the moment Cersei needs you or wants you, you’ll go running to her as you did before.” She bit her lip nervously.

Jaime shook his head vehemently. “That’s never going to happen again, Brienne.” He paused. “Cersei has already been sending me letters summoning me for the last few months, but I’ve just been throwing them into the fire.” He kissed her neck. “I’m not her creature any more, Brienne.”

A flicker of hope lit inside her and grew.

“Is it true?” she asked, her voice squeaky.

“Yes, Brienne.” Jaime kissed her then, a long, sweet kiss that left her wanting more. “I love you and will be by your side for as long as you’ll have me.”

For the first time in a long time, she dared herself to think about a future with Jaime, dared herself to believe that what she wanted could be hers, that _Jaime_ could be hers. That the life she dreamed they would have had together was within reach. But she knew it would take time to fully repair her heart, time for her to totally believe that he would never go back to Cersei’s bed. But they had time, plenty of time.

“That might mean forever, Jaime.” Brienne said, kissing him back.

“Then I look forward to it, wife,” he said, deepening their kiss, his hands on her hips pushing her backwards until she bumped the kitchen counter, spilling the moon tea.

=====

Baby Joffrey was the most beautiful child Brienne had ever seen, with his large green eyes, golden curls and prominent dimples. At six months old, he looked wide-eyed at the world, often reaching out to grab his mother’s curls or dress or fingers; he gurgled and smiled and cried peevishly. Cersei doted on him, holding him in her lap and smiling in a way that Brienne had never seen before. She hardly looked like a woman who’s had a baby, as her figure returned to her slim form, all except her breasts which were even more full and voluptuous. The light of the Mother seemed to be emanating from her, and she surely belonged at the altar with the rest of the gods, such was her overwhelming beauty.

However, such happy glances were reserved for the baby and the baby alone; Cersei still scowled at Tyrion and looked dismissively at Brienne. She also gave Jaime bitter glances. It was the first time Brienne had been at a Lannister gathering since that time months ago when she made the decision to leave Jaime.

“Oh, you’re here,” Cersei had said with surprise when she first arrived. “I thought you had left my brother. Are you back?”

“Cersei, you know very well we are back together,” Jaime said, irritated, taking a seat beside Brienne.

“I’m glad you’ve come to your senses and appreciate what you have in Brienne, brother,” Tyrion said, smiling as he handed both of them a glass of Dornish white wine.

Jaime smiled crookedly, looking sheepishly at Brienne. “It certainly took me a long time. Too long did shadows blind me,” he said poetically, grabbing her by the hand and bringing her palm to his lips. Brienne blushed hotly, and noticed Cersei’s narrowed eyes and malevolent glare.

Tywin nodded at Brienne, his mouth turning up in a slight smile. “It is fortunate indeed that you both have found each other again. Many of us don’t have second chances in life, let alone in love.” His mouth tightened. “Let’s hope you continue to appreciate each other,” he continued, looking pointedly at Jaime.

Throughout the evening, Brienne glanced nervously at Jaime. Whenever she had previously seen him in the presence of his sister, he had always been close by her side, hovering around her like a worker bee, fawning over her and being irresistibly drawn to the powerful pull of her beauty. Cersei was never more beautiful than she was now; yet Jaime stayed by Brienne’s side, often checking in on her and how she was feeling. She did catch him look at Joffrey with sadness and longing, but Cersei would not let anyone else in the family touch her son; it was only with reluctance that she handed Joffrey over to his nurse when he was crying from exhaustion and requiring a nap.

Brienne and Jaime’s own reunion was still new, and Brienne had only moved back to the house only two weeks prior, having decided to remain at her own house many weeks after that fateful rainstorm. She knew from earlier experience that being intimate with Jaime did not necessarily translate to commitment or devotion on his part. A part of her could not help but question Jaime’s feelings for her, no matter how passionately or sincerely he declared his love. So they lived apart, but saw each other nearly every day, and were intimate nearly every day; she was earnestly in need of her moon tea these past weeks.

Yet the fact of the matter was that Jaime had fathered a child with Cersei, and there would forever be that bond between them, even if it appeared that Cersei did not want Jaime to be near their son at all. There was, of course, their bond of twinship. Cersei continued to send Jaime letters and missives demanding his presence, sometimes on a daily basis; all of them went into the fire. He showed them to her: some letters were begging, some were threatening, some were obscene, promising him the paradise of her cunt. He burned them all.

That evening, when they were about to leave, Cersei called Jaime for a private word; he looked at Brienne to check and she nodded, knowing that it was unrealistic for him to ignore his twin forever. She spoke to Tyrion as she waited; her goodbrother spoke of his travels south to Dorne and Essos and all the wonders there, suggesting that Brienne would likely find inspiration for her next book in the realms of the exotic east.

They heard a crash, the sound of glass breaking. Jaime stormed out, walking quickly toward Brienne with a distressed look on his face; behind him, Cersei was in pursuit, wildly yelling after him, “Stop! You won’t get away with this! You’re stupid! Pathetic! Weak!” She ran toward him and pulled his arm, and when he turned, Cersei struck him hard in the face with her palm, her rings cutting into the skin around his cheekbones. The slap echoed through the grand room. She dug her long nails into Jaime’s arms to grip him even tighter. He stared at her, panicked and angry, but seemingly paralyzed, unable to move.

Before she knew what she was doing, Brienne was between them, physically wrenching Cersei’s fingers off Jaime’s arm, and grabbing the small woman hard by the shoulders. Brienne towered over Cersei, but that did not stop the woman from lunging toward her and trying to scratch at Brienne with her claws. She grabbed the small hands of the woman and held them firmly.

“You will no longer hurt Jaime, Cersei,” Brienne said to the enraged woman in a low, threatening tone. “The days of you manipulating him, insulting him, and hitting him are over.”

Cersei sneered at her. “Who are you to say that to me, you great ugly freak? You’re nobody. Jaime will always be mine.” Cersei laughed maniacally. “Oh, he may like the feel of your cunt right now, but he’ll return to me. He always returns to me. It’s only a matter of time.”

Brienne squeezed the woman’s hands hard. Cersei flinched. “Frankly, I don’t care what you think, Cersei. Because if you threaten or hurt Jaime again, you’ll answer to me.” She increased pressure on the woman’s hands, causing the smaller woman to gasp and wince in pain. “Jaime might have trouble hurting you because you’re a woman, but I have no such qualms.” She pushed the woman away in disgust. “Now leave us alone.”

Cersei stared at her with a mixture of fear, disgust and undisguised rage, before screaming in frustration and storming off. Brienne turned toward Jaime, who was standing nearby with Tyrion, both of them gaping in shock.

She gave Jaime a soft kiss and cupped his face in her hands. “Are you all right?” Brienne asked Jaime, looking at him with concern. He nodded mutely, and suddenly took her into his arms, kissing her passionately, his mouth devouring hers as his arms pulled her body tight against his. 

“My knight in shining armor,” Jaime murmured hotly into her neck. His eyes were dark with lust. Brienne thought for a moment that Jaime would tear off her clothes and take her right there. She blushed deeply, wishing that perhaps he would.

Tyrion cleared his throat, looking at them with profound amusement. “I’m afraid, Brienne, you have shot to the top in terms of people Cersei detests,” he said, “Even surpassing me.” He giggled. “I must say, you threatening my sweet sister was one of the greatest scenes I’ve ever had the pleasure to witness,” Tyrion said, “And I have seen a great many things in my lifetime. Bravo.”

Brienne felt herself growing even more red. Jaime continued to stare at her, his eyes wide and mouth open, his hand clutching her waist.

Tyrion glanced at both of them kindly. “I recommend you taking that honeymoon you failed to take when you were married those many months ago.” He smirked. “I hear Essos is lovely this time of year.”

Brienne smiled her thanks to Tyrion, and Jaime nodded his head. Jaime looked at Brienne, and practically pulled her toward their carriage. As she grinned and waved at Tyrion, Jaime suddenly swept her off her feet and into his arms, carrying her toward the carriage like a damsel in distress.

“Jaime! Put me down, you’ll hurt yourself. I’m too heavy,” she said, frantically squirming in his arms.

He gave her a kiss and grinned crookedly. “I’m strong enough, wife. Allow me to carry you for once.”

=====

The brilliant leaves formed a canopy above them, as the warm sunlight of autumn shone through the red leaves, making it seem as if gentle flames were glowing high above them. Brienne had never seen anything so beautiful; the luminous orange light made Jaime even more golden and brought a vividness to his skin that seemed unreal. He was resplendent in a gold cravat and deep red jacket. Brienne was garbed in a blue shirt and trousers, appropriately dressed for a walk through the sacred forests of the Isle of Faces.

They faced each other, holding hands, and stood in front of a large weirwood tree, its bark a stark white, its carved face one of infinite patience. They were alone in the weirwood grove, just the two of them. All she saw in front of her were the green of Jaime’s eyes, so open and so full of love. He wanted this moment with her, wanted another chance to say his vows to her; he wanted them to begin anew, he’d said, to give their marriage a brand new start. They couldn’t get officially married again, of course, but Jaime had said that this forest was the closest he’d ever felt to any of the gods, new or old, and at this Brienne had to agree, recalling the sense of profound peace she had found there.

So there they were, at the very first step in their lengthy honeymoon of indeterminate length, on the Isle of Faces, standing in front of a sacred heart tree, holding hands and just looking at each other.

Jaime smiled at her, his eyes soft as he said these words: _“I, Jaime Lannister, vow to love you, cherish you, support you for all the days of my life.”_

 _“I, Brienne Tarth, vow to love you, cherish you, support you for all the days of my life,”_ Brienne said, gazing back lovingly at him.

They said in unison, _“I am yours, and you are mine, for now and for always.”_

They kissed, and Jaime pulled her body to him and held her tightly.

“Now we are truly married, wife,” Jaime said softly, tears shimmering in his eyes.

“I love you, Jaime,” Brienne murmured, kissing him again.

“As I love you, Brienne,” he said, kissing her neck. She moaned. He kissed her again, hard and passionate. He pulled open the collar of her shirt and licked her skin there, and his hands were running up and down her back, cupping her ass, as he groaned into her shoulder. She carded her fingers through his hair and pulled him even closer. He then pushed her against the weirwood tree, pressing his body against hers, allowing her to feel how incredibly hard he was for her.

“Jaime,” Brienne said, gasping, “We shouldn’t – not here,” She groaned as he ground his arousal into the juncture of her thighs.

“Wife,” he said roughly, “What better way to consummate our new marriage than in front of the old gods?” He unbuttoned her shirt and took one of her breasts into his mouth. She cried out, arching her chest toward him. He quickly took off her breeches, and kneeled before her and put his tongue into her cunt, sucking and licking, soon making her scream with pleasure. She became frantic then, scrambling to unbutton his trousers and pulling them down over his hips, freeing his engorged cock. He lifted her leg, hooking it around his hip, and being as their bodies were perfectly aligned, slid into her with a deep groan.

“Gods, you’re so wet and tight,” Jaime gasped, thrusting deeply into her, pushing her into the tree, as she bucked against him with every thrust, grounding on his cock, sending bolts of pleasure through her, and he slammed into her harder and harder, and somehow he reached that mysterious place in her and she felt herself rising and rising until she tipped over the edge, crying out Jaime’s name, and a rapture took hold of her and shook her to her very soul. He watched her release and groaned loudly has he felt the spasms of her peak around his cock. He pumped into her frantically now, looking into her eyes, moving faster and faster until his whole body shuddered, and he shouted his release, spurting his seed deep inside her as he thrust a few final times. He rested his head against her neck, both of them panting, exhausted.

“Another well consummated marriage, wife,” said Jaime. “Imagine, this is only the first stop of our long honeymoon,” he said into her ear, stopping to lick and suck at her neck.

Brienne lowered them to the grass and they lay at the base of the tree, looking at each other and holding each other with tenderness. Jaime felt solid and real, and he was _hers_. She felt fulfilled. Soon, sleep took a hold of them and they drifted off, both dreaming of being in each other’s arms, of the sun warming their skin, feeling like something – whether gods, spirits, or ghosts – was somehow looking down on them in approval and smiling. They dreamed of soft hands wrapping them in a blanket made of red weirwood leaves, and dreamed the grass was holding them, cradling them in the softest green.

They awoke, opening their eyes, seeing each other and themselves clearly. Above them, the bark of the tree glowed white and was warm to the touch from the afternoon sun. They kissed and kissed some more. They had no witnesses this time, and the wedding was not in a sept, but at that moment, they felt truly married. They were bound to each other now, and they both believed that it was a bond that no one, not even the old gods and the new, could break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! I would love to read your reactions to the ending. Any and all comments, short or long, are welcome! 
> 
> STORY NOTES
> 
> Historically, two major pieces of literature emerged from that 1816 summer in Geneva: Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, and Dr. John Polidori's The Vampyre, which basically created the whole vampire genre in literature (Polidori had a tragic life, he allegedly poisoned himself at the age of 25). Polidori's vampyre figure was apparently inspired by Byron's numerous affairs and the trail of heartbreak he left behind (of course, when it was published, people assumed that Bryon wrote it). So in this fic, I had to include Jon writing that particular novella. 
> 
> Also, I chose to name Brienne's novel The Modern Prometheus instead of Frankenstein, as it was the alternate title to the real novel. In the real-life version of this, Mary Shelley's book was published anonymously, but people assumed that her husband Percy Shelley wrote it (because OF COURSE they did). It was an immediate success, however.
> 
> Mary and Percy Shelley left England for a while and traveled across Europe. Byron, plagued by incest rumours, also left England and settled in Italy. Percy Shelley drowned in Italy in 1822 at the age of 29, and Byron died of a fever in Greece at the age of 36 in 1824. Mary lived to the age of 53, dying in 1851.
> 
> AUTHOR NOTES
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and liking this story. I LOVED your comments and reading your reactions to this story. Your thoughtful and insightful feedback has made writing it definitely worth it. I can't get over the enthusiasm with with this story was met. Thank you for embracing the Regency Romantic period and for loving the real-life inspirations/mash up for this story.
> 
> I don't have anything planned in terms of writing more J/B stories, so I might be taking a bit of a break. I will return when the inspiration strikes (this particular one struck me earlier than I thought it would, so you never know when I will return). In the meanwhile, I recommend my very long Brienne first story Sapphire Scalpel if you are interested in reading other works from me.
> 
> I'm constantly reading J/B works, so I will see you guys in the comments. Thanks for being a part of such an awesome fandom!


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